Unsaid
by nat13cat
Summary: SPOILERS: Kirk's final words were not what he intended them to be, he was cut short of his final reveal. That he loves Spock, and he doesn't know when it happened or why it happened, but he does know without a doubt that it is true. Now all he has to do is find a way to tell the man without ruining their friendship. Oh, and try to get Spock to love him back.
1. Chapter 1: Words Unsaid

He didn't know why he said it.

Really, even now, after everything was over, and he miraculously had time to consider his actions, relive the panic and then the icy cold of certainty that contrasted with the inferno of radiation poisoning him as it cooked him from the inside out, he didn't know why he said it. He knew his mind had been fogged, he had thought he was going to die after all, but still. Why had he said it?

"I want you to know why I went back for you. Why I couldn't let you die."

He hadn't chosen those to be his last words. In fact, he'd never thought about what his last words would be, not even when he ducked into the warp core, not even as the stinging turned to burning and then to a gentle tingle as his organs began to shut down. He didn't think about his last words until he was lying there, waiting for his lungs to collapse, waiting for his heart to fail. Staring at Spock.

He didn't think about his last words until he was staring at Spock.

"I want you to know why I went back for you. Why I couldn't let you die," his memory began to get hazy at this point, Bones told him it was because the radiation had breached his skull and his brain was beginning to cook.

But he does remember the tear. And he does remember what Spock said.

"Because you are my friend."

His mind screamed no as his right lung collapsed, sealing off his last words forever. Breathing became a struggle that he lost along with all feeling in his legs as his vision began to go white (you cooked your cornea, Jim). He couldn't speak, but he could do one last thing.

He lifted his arm and pressed his hand to the glass, smiling slightly as Spock pressed the Vulcan salute to the other side. He focused on that image as the edges of his sight burned away, forcing the last of his energy into fitting his hand to Spock's.

That was the last thing he saw, their hands separated by three centimeters of plastic.

His vision stolen from him, he turned his face to where he knew Spock's was, struggling for that last breath, imagining those brown eyes locked on his.

Spock.

And then he died.

Alive again, he had what no one else in history had. Time to think about his death. Time to think about his last actions. Time to relive his death over and over, but he knew he'd get over the PTSD eventually. Time to think about his last words.

If put in the same situation again, he wouldn't change but one thing, even if there was no blood to bring him back. He wouldn't have paused, wouldn't have let Spock speak, wouldn't have waited. He would have just spoken, let the consequences be what they may.

"I want you to know why I went back for you. Why I couldn't let you die. Because I love you, Spock."


	2. Chapter 2: The Ice Cream Event

"You are eating my prescribed amount of daily calories?"

"Yes," Jim placated, rolling his eyes playfully and winking at the nurse attending to his daily scans.

"And you're undergoing two hours of electrolysis to build your muscle strength back up?"

"Yes,"

"And you are-"

"Yes, yes and yes! Bones, stop. I'm following your instructions to the letter. I want to get back into condition just as much as you want me to. Besides, if I tried to skimp, Nurse Wang here would put me in line, wouldn't you?" He shot her one of his I'm-this-handsome-and-a-starship-captain similes, to which she replied with a I'm-not-having-any-of-it smile, addressing Bones.

"Don't worry Doctor McCoy. His recovery is progressing smoothly and ahead of schedule. We should have him out of here in two, three days tops. Good thing too, we need his bed," Kirk frowned at her and she tossed him a wink of her own, pushing her cart out of the room and on to the next patient.

"I'm sorry Jim, it's just that I'm guilty as hell for leaving you so soon after you woke up." Kirk reclined in his pillows, glad he had ordered the bed turned around so he could look out his windows instead of at a blank gray wall.

"Bones, you are one of the best physicians in Star Fleet. You should be where you're needed most, and right now that's San Francisco, dealing with the carnage Kahn caused, not doting on me." Bones sighs on the line, faint clicking a sure sign he's tapping his stylus on his Padd again, portraying his own agitation and undoubtably inspiring it in those around him.

"I hate it when you're right Jim, which happens too often," there was a crackle that Jim determined was shouting in the background. "I'm sorry, I've got to go, a woman's just gone into early labor."

"Go, do your job, and stop worrying about me. Besides, Spock hasn't taken his eyes off me since you left,"

"That's what I'm worried about," the doctor grumbled, which was followed by more, louder shouts. "I do have to go. Don't forget to take your vitamins!"

"God," Jim chuckled and flipped his communicator closed, leaving it beside his head as he reclined fully onto his pillows. He hated leaving the damn thing in his bed, but he was tired, more so than he let on to anyone. New life was difficult, and he had just been in a two week coma. Still, he preferred only to sleep on medication, because otherwise, while he may not dream about it, the space between waking life and sleep was haunted by phantom pain and phantom panic that had him sitting strait up in bed, gasping, all previous thoughts of sleep gone.

His eyes slid closed as he relaxed in the heat of the sun, stretching his face up slightly to feel it on his face, relishing the softness of the blankets and his general, empty bliss.

A shadow slid across his face what might have been a minute or a hour later, time had lost a lot of meaning for him as he lay in bed all day. Cracking an eyelid he saw a familiar silhouette edged in light.

"I am sorry if I woke you Captain, I did not mean to disturb your slumber."

"No, no Spock. I was just resting." Jim said as he slid his arms back and began to push into a sitting position, glaring at Spock as he moved to help. His first Officer relented, letting him struggle on his own into an acceptable upright position. A heavy tray was placed on his lap and Spock returned to his chair, repositioning it so he could converse more easily with Jim, as he did everyday after Nurse Wang insisted on moving it back.

"They finally let you bring my food, hunh?" Jim said, digging into his overloaded tray, beginning with the chicken noodle soup, hoping to get away with not eating the salad.

"Yes," Spock said lightly, a new tone for him Jim had only picked up on after the 'Wrath of Khan', as the media had come to call the travesties committed by the war criminal. "They now trust me to carry your tray from the kitchens to your quarters. However, they do not yet trust me enough to let me bring you a meal from the outside the hospital."

"That didn't stop you," Jim baited, and he grinned when his wish was granted. Spock handed him the white styrofoam cup, and Kirk eagerly forgot the soup in favor of sipping the forbidden milkshake.

"Captain I advise you finish your main course before you consume dessert."

"And I advise that you do not advise until you have to eat four thousand calories a day and none of them can be tasted ," he says in between slurps. "Compare this," holds up his replicated multigrain roll, "to this," emphasizing his milkshake. Spock raises his eyebrow.

"As I have not tasted the later, I pass no judgement on the validity of your statement."

"Then Let's rectify the situation. Here," and Kirk, brashly, unthinkingly, in the manner others define him by and he was beginning to recognize in himself, popped the top off the cup, scooped some ice cream up with the straw and held it to Spock's face for him to sample.

The man scientifically wrapped his lips around the straw, removed the ice cream, and then sat back to consider the flavor.

"Interesting," he finalized, "But I still believe you should consume the healthier portions of your meal prior to this milkshake."

"You're starting to sound like Bones," Jim grumbled and put down his shake, picking up his roll.

"That is illogical, for the doctor speaks with an accent caused by his learning of standard in Georgia-"

"Not literally Spock." Jim sighs goodnaturedly.

They make pointless conversation while Jim finishes his meal and Spock sets up the 3D chess board he had taken to brining, giving them both something to talk about other than his death, current health, and the "Wrath of Khan".

"So how's the ship?" Kirk asked, putting his tray aside, waiting for the usual "your health is more important at this time" redirect.

"She is... Unwell Captain. While your efforts saved all our lives, the Enterprise sustained heavy damage. She is awaiting repair now in Space Dock 1, but I'm afraid that due to the extensive destruction on Earth, her repairs will not begin for some time."

"Well that's not too big a deal. Once I'm well enough, I'll call Scotty up and the three of us will go up there and start work."

"Captain," Spock paused, dark eyes flicking over his face, examining its strength, he knew that look, " I'm afraid that is not possible. The Enterprise's gravity generators are inoperable, and due to many instances of hull breach and explosive decompression, the atmospheric seals did not work properly."

Jim paused, removing his eyes from the board to look into Spock's own, which held definite sadness.

"So you're saying she's and open ship."

"Yes, sir. Scotty and I took a shuttle to examine her yesterday. She is already beginning to freeze over, Captain."

Jim leaned back into his pillows, stunned. His ship, open to the harshness of space. Every deck, airless and frozen, his crews personal belongings, memories floating down corridors and out into Space. The Enterprise, dead.

"I died to keep that ship alive," he murmurs, staring out into the sun.

"She is still alive Captain. The crew is still alive," a warm hand grips his shoulder, and he meets those dark, human eyes. "The hull does not a ship make. The people who fly her, that is the Enterprise."

He couldn't look at those eyes anymore. All he saw was them through three centimeters of plastic, blurring as his eyes burned away.

"Thank you Spock."

"You are welcome, Jim."

They sat in silence for many moments, Jim focusing on the warm hand gripping his shoulder, for it provided some comfort. Despite his best efforts to hide it, or distract people from it, he was not comfortable. Far from it, he was anxious-half from what had happened and half from being cooped up in a hospital bed so long.

Spock's communicator beeps, and he answers it with his opposite hand. "Acting Captain Spock to temporary Star Fleet Command immediately," the terse message ends before Spock has even fully opened the device.

"Acting Captain hmm?" Jim interjects to hide the unexplainable internal jerk that accompanies the removal of Spock's hand.

"They insist on referring to me as such, despite my imploring otherwise." Spock removes the un started chess game from the bed and places it in his seat. "I do not know when I will return, but I will do so Mr. Kirk."

"Okay Mr. Spock, see you later," Jim contented himself with returning his gaze out the pleasantly fogged window. Footsteps snapped across the tile floor, paused at the door, and then faded down the hall as his number one reported for duty while he lay in bed.

"Unfog glass, one hundred percent, view, street level," he ordered, and took up his new habit of people watching. He'd only been to New York City once before this, during his years as a cadet. Star fleet kept a lot of its lower level bureaucracy and Earth specific headquarters in this city, which is why it made sense to move the main command here and out of one of the worst terrorist attacks in Earth history. Why it made sense to move him here, he supposes.

Alone again.

Not that he minded, really. Except that it gave him time to think. Time to think about Khan. Time to think about his first time viewing of a truly bloody death as Khan shattered Admiral Marcus's head right before his eyes, spraying him with the mans blood and fragments of his brain. Time to think about the horribly iron and fatty taste and the smell of blood and shit that came with a death like that. Time to think about the burning. The horrible pain as he-

Jim shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders a couple times, trying to force his mind away from the horrible memories. Spock. Spock was a safe thought.

And now he saw those lips wrapping around the straw, the quick flash of Vulcan tongue as he swiped the ice cream off, the pull back off the straw, the very edges of the lips glistening while the majority of their surface was dry and soft looking. Jim shivered again, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Damn it he was doing it again. Thinking about the man in a very less-than-platonic manner. It started happening after Bones had returned to San Francisco to aid in the tent hospitals popping up across the devastated down town and he came back into his mind a little bit. Spock was the only one stationed in New York, and the only one able to visit him on a daily basis, which probably had something to do with his slightly-less-than an obsession. Every little move he made had taken on a new meaning. An eyebrow up tick, for instance, had to be analyzed as a humorous inquiry or and agitated display of misunderstanding. An accidental brush of the hands was either unwanted physical contact or a secretive way to display affection that Spock thought Jim didn't know or care about. A comforting hand on the shoulder was either the duty of the first officer or friendly support.

But licking the ice cream off his offered straw was hard to misconstrue. That was flirtatious, sexual.

But did Spock know that? Did Spock understand that aspect of human interaction? He was dating Uhura, he had to know something.

Jim groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Right. He was dating Uhura. He may have put that out of his mind to ease some of is guilt for his un platonic attraction to his number one.

Before Khan's attacks, sure he'd noticed Spock. They were together all the time, and he was intriguing in that he was Vulcan, and Kirk enjoyed finding out what made him tick, intellectually, physiologically, socially. He really hadn't had a chance to poke at the sexual side of the equation, however. He hadn't been against it, but just had the sense his idea of sexual experimentation would not have been met with enthusiasm and probably resulted in the deterioration of their budding friendship. And Spock was dating Uhura, who also wouldn't have appreciated his ideas on sexual experimentation, though in that case, he knew from trial and error.

So what if he looked at Spock's ass when he bent over, so did Uhura and the nurses and the ensigns and McCoy for Christ's sake, it was human (and alien too). So what if he looked at his lips when he licked them and at his ears when they flushed and at his neck when he swallowed. He did the same with anyone and everything he found appealing, and yes Spock was a man but it wouldn't be the first time he'd found a man attractive, though he did tend to prefer women.

Plain and simple, he liked Spock. He was a friend, a very good friend who he found attractive but was comfortable leaving it at that.

He wasn't sure when that had changed. When friend changed into something more for both of them-especially for Jim. When they became so in sync they operated more like one unit (with a few kinks that needed straightening now and again, and of course their fair share of arguments) bonded by experience and need. Though Jim may have called it love then, and only to his closest of confidants and definitely not to Spock's face, it was nothing compared to what he felt now.

Thinking about it, had he not died, he probably would have never realized what he felt. It would have been there, lurking, but it never would have surfaced. He never would have had to face it, wrangle it, and try and take control of it like he was now. Those final words, left unsaid, in response to "Because you are my friend."

"More than that. Because I love you."


	3. Chapter 3: A Paper Adventure

His heart rate had elevated around three o'clock in the afternoon, which worried Nurse Wang. He insisted that it was nothing, and for her not to worry, but she in turn insisted on running tests, skipping muscle strengthening, and hitting him with a higher than usual dosage of sleep medication much earlier than usual.

Jim couldn't really protest, because what was he supposed to say? That around three o'clock his intellectual musings had desisted into reliving Spock's lips around the straw, and then applying it to... Other things? That his hand had trailed below the belt to deal with the sudden problem, the entire short time worrying that she or Spock would catch him, by the end moaning the later name into his fist, and then dealing with the new problem of what to do with the evidence by making the arduous climb to the bathroom? Yeah, no. He'd didn't get embarrassed easily, but that would have put him in the grave.

So he paid for his transgressions with an early bed time. Not that he minded, really, because he was exhausted, in part due to his transgression, one he'd become more familiar with being Captain and not having the regular flow of women he used to at the academy, but he was also tired all the time these days.

Sleep was uneventful, the pure bliss of a heavy, dreamless knock out. It was how he woke up that was interesting.

He slammed into consciousness, eyes flicking open and breathing pattern changing immediately, as he'd come accustomed to with medication mediated sleep patterns.

Despite his sudden waking and resulting stretch and yawn, he caught it. The soft stroke of fingers on his hair, the way his mother used to while she cried, and he sat, terrified, trapped in her drunken arms. The fingers froze mid journey, but Jim did not want them to stop, so he closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep, turning slightly towards the motion. The hand resumed its stroke, pushing his hair away from his forehead, neat and smooth, precise.

"Spock," he fake murmured, cracking his eyes just slightly to see the response. The one he received was not the one he was expecting.

"He is here, Captain," said Uhura, and at that Jim opened his eyes fully, staring into Nyota's kind, weary face. He blinked a couple times to make sure it was her.

"Good morning Lieutenant," Jim sits up much easier than he did yesterday. She laughs slightly at his statement,

"Captain it's three in the morning, and I don't deem that a "good morning". But whatever floats your boat sir."

"I thought you were released for your two month leave yesterday-why aren't you in South Africa yet?"

"My shuttle was laid over in New York for two hours, and I thought I'd say good bye to Spock before I left. He just happened to be here with you," she smiles, "So I thought I might as well say goodbye to you too."

"I'm flattered Uhura," Jim says with slight sarcasm, and she rolls her eyes.

"Oh stop. You know I would have come even if Spock was somewhere else." Her communicator beeps, alerting her that he launch time is approaching. " I'm so sorry, but I do have to run. You slept through most of my visit. Now get better, okay Captain?"

"Yes ma'am," he said craning his neck up as she kissed his forehead. "Um, you missed. My lips are down here,"

"You never let up Captain," she chuckled, retreating from the bed and approaching Spock. She woke him by stroking her hand down his face, who stirred gently in his sleep, blinking blearily at his beautiful girlfriend.

"Nyota,"

"Goodbye Spock,"

"Goodbye," she kissed him, tenderly, cupping his face, as his hand held her arm, their lips pressed so softly, so perfectly together. Kirk closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. His infatuation was irrational, now he just needed to convince himself of this. Why did he have to die? And why did he have to come back to life? He was Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise damn it, he needed to pull himself together, get off this damn bed and out of this damn hospital. But not right now. I was three in the morning, after all.

Nyota graced him with one last smile before slipping into the hall, door hissing behind her. Spock directed sleep clouded eyes in his direction, mouth open, about to question something.

"Sleep Spock," Jim ordered, but gently, and the man obliged immediately. His eyes closed, his head drooped onto his shoulder, and he was gone.

Wait.

Had Spock been sleeping in his room every night, in that horribly uncomfortable chair no less?

Well, wow.

That made up for the not stroking the hair thing and nearly giving himself away in front of Uhura. But now he was wide awake with no where to go but up and out of the bed-he was feeling remarkably better, whatever they were medicating him with (other than Khan's blood) was working wonders.

Taking a deep breath he slid his legs over the side of the bed, and then put weight on them, before lifting out of bed. No shaking, no nausea, no feeling that his bones were brittle enough to snap like twigs if he took a step. So he did. And another, and another. He wanted to laugh out loud, but was afraid to wake his commander, slumped so uncomfortably in that chair, still in full uniform, gray hat askew on his still impeccable hair.

Kirk grabbed his physical therapy cane just in case and after a second thought his communicator, slinking into the hall, checking to make sure the coast is clear, and then starting off.

The hospital was almost eerie at night, though undoubtably very busy in the ER on the bottom floor and emergency surgery on the first couple floors. But up here in long term care, it was silent except for the whir of air conditioning and the lights as they flicked on and off as he passed underneath them.

He didn't use his cane, he didn't need it, his legs were working almost perfectly, though they did lock strangely once or twice, causing him to wince with pain. He even narrowly avoided a speeding janitor bot, coughing in the chemical lemon fumes it left in its wake. One turn at the end of the hall and he was there, good thing too, because he was definitely tiring.

A giant viewing window that reminded him of observation deck 7 back on the Enterprise glittered before him. New York City towered and sprawled before him, lights twinkling and flickering like a human galaxy. It was beautiful, but nothing man made could ever hold a candle to the majesty of space.

A purple search light swept across the city, and it hit him.

The sinking feeling, the shots, the glass exploding, the torpedoes and the explosions, his desperate attempts to take out the ship before it was too late, the crunch as it went down, Khans cool face as he transported away. The run back to the conference room, locating Spock, locating Pike. Knowing it was too late, that Pike s dead, that his only real father was gone, the horrible crushing anguish that he had failed, that he had failed again, and Pike was gone. Forever.

Kirk gasped, lurching forward, stumbling as his legs gave way, bracing on himself on the three inch glass.

The stinging, his eyes were watering. The burning, he was on fire. But it didn't matter, he had to save the ship. Bang. Bang. Bang. One more. One more. One more. The burning was fading, leaving a sickening tingling in its wake. He was out of his head, he was dying, but he kept going walking, stumbling, crawling, dragging himself the final meters, sealing off the core, knowing it wouldnt matter in his lifetime. The fear, the horrible, crippling knowledge that he was in a no win scenario, and he was going to pay the dearest price for his arrogance, just like his father. Spock, there. Spock, with him through the horror. His lost final words, pressing his hand to the door in a last ditch effort to convey what he never knew he needed to say, hands separated by three inch glass-

Kirk gasped for air, fighting his way through the flash back. He griped his communicator, digging his nails into the tile, grounding himself in reality. He was here. He was alive. He was here, not in the warp core. He was not burning, it was cold. It was cold. It was cold.

Breaking free he took in one more gulp before returning to normal breathing patterns. Jesus. It had never been that bad before. Jim was crumpled on the ground, his cane had skittered away in his convulsions. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the seam in the window, using it to heave him of upwards, bracing on the glass as he took one limping step, and then another, snatching his cane off the ground, using that to support the left, and the wall to support his right, communicator tucked into his star fleet issued boxer briefs because yes, this entire adventure had occurred in a paper hospital gown.

Then his cane slipped on the trail left by the racing janitor bot that had nearly knocked him over earlier. It went flying forward, and so did he, losing his precious grip on the wall as he wiped out on the ground.

"Not again," he groaned. He was going to have serious bruises to explain to Wang tomorrow. He reached his hand up for something to grab onto on the wall, a ledge, a handle, a niche, anything. There was nothing. Beginning to panic now he stretched for his cane, but it was about a meter away, and across the very slick floor. "Damn it," he muttered, brining his shaking legs under neath him, managing to kneel, but when he tried to stand he began shaking horribly, which he assumed as a bad thing, and decided to stop.

Nausea, something he hadn't felt since the first couple days out of his coma, rushed though him, and he groaned, putting his head between his knees and leaned against the wall, trying not to hyper ventilate. Shit. This was bad.

His communicator in hand, he flicked it open without thinking.

"Spock," and waited the moment it took on earth for the system to find the desired recipient.

Then more panic began to set in. What if Spock didn't wake up? Want if he'd turned his communicator off? What if-

"Jim?" The voice was tired, but panic bled in as he realized the situation. "What has happened? Where are you?"

"I can't get up Spock. Jesus Christ, I can't get up," anxiety began to take over and his voice broke as he lost the battle against hyper ventilation. "Jesus."

"Where are you?" Spock insisted.

"The hallway. Christ Spock, I can stand, I can't stand. " Jim was hyper ventilating now, shivering. It was suddenly freezing.

A door swished open, was his room really that far down the hall, and a frantic Spock looked away before he spotted him, shoving his communicator into his dress uniform and sprinting to his location, dropping to his knees at his side, helping him stand. God, he was so weak! So helpless! He wasn't even in control of his own mind.

"Your cane Captain," Jim could barely grab it, his hand was shaking so bad, and he missed it the first time. They began their limping, shuddering walk back to the room, Jim's arm slung across Spock's shoulders, trying to calm his rapid breathing.

"Try and relax Captain. Take deep breaths," Jim tried, but then his chest caught. He stumbled, and Spock stooped with him, taking all his weight.

"I can't." Jim tried gulping in air, but there wasn't enough, he was suffocating. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Spock I can't breathe."

"Hold on Captain," he said, and then the world was moving as he was lifted, and swung into rock like arms. Blood pulsed in his eyes, jittering the hallway as his door approached much faster now, carried by his first officer.

"I feel like," Jim groaned, throwing his head back into Spock's shoulder. "God, like there is a shuttle on my chest. Jesus."

"Hold on," he repeated, every so gently lying Jim on his bed as he writhed and gasped for air, trying to dislodge whatever was weighing on his chest, crushing his lungs, crushing his throat like when Spock has choked him on the bridge. It didn't compute that because he was talking, he must be able to breathe.

"Nurse Wang, come in, this is Acting Captain Spock, yes it's extremely urgent, something is wrong with Jim."

She appeared moments after that, sleep disheveled, ordering that Spock restrain his shoulders while she ran tests, and Jim watched her with rolling eyes, trying to take deep breaths, focusing on Spock's worried brown expression above him, so dark you could barely make out the his pupils

, even in the now blinding hospital light.

Finally whatever the weight was lifted, and he took a deep, lung filing breath, relief washing through him. Thank God. For some reason he though he was having a heart attack, even though no one got those any more.

Nurse Wang hypoed his neck with something, and immediately all his muscles relaxed and he smiled as a pleasant rum like haze descended over his mind.

"What was his ailment nurse?" Spock clipped, turning to face the exhausted woman. Instead of answering she beckoned him into the hall, and he followed, eyebrow raised curiously. Despite Jim's less than lucid state, he could hear the conversation, and analyzed it later.

"I'd repeat my inquiry but that would be illogical."

"Sometimes you are too Vulcan. And there is nothing physically wrong with him. He's actually ahead of schedule in physical recuperation."

"I am sorry Nurse Wang, but the complexities of human pranks escape me. You witnessed the same events I did. How can nothing be amiss?"

"I didn't say nothing was amiss. Physically yes, nothing is wrong aside from bruising on his knees and elbows from a fall. But psychologically he has to be a mess Spock. Leonard McCoy brought him back from the dead for Gods sake! No one has ever come back from the dead before. And Jim Kirk didn't pass away peacefully from old age. He died burning from radiation in a warp reactor on a falling star ship. Not to mention all the trauma experienced before that."

"So you are stating he is suffering from... Emotional injury?" There is no sigh, but it is implied.

"Physiological trauma officially diagnosed as PTSD, but close enough. What we, well you mainly, witnessed back there was an anxiety event, panic attack, what ever you want to call it-hyperventilation, heart-attack like symptoms, he most likely experienced flash backs... It's a text book case. Can you blame him?"

"Can you heal him?" This time there is an audible sigh.

"There is no magic cure. I gave him a hypo to keep him calm for the next few hours so we can both get some sleep, and it shouldn't be a problem after that. But there's no way of knowing if or when it is going to happen again. He just needs time, Spock. Give it to him. And if he's half the man they say he is, well, he'll get through this."

"He is twice the man they say he is," is Spock's reply, and with a swish, he is back in his seat, fingers steepled before his face, watching Jim.

Jim wants to say something to that last comment, but he'll either admit what he was trying so hard to hide or start to cry, both of which happened when he was as drunk as he felt.

Passing out was the most diplomatic solution.

**Hello all! **

**Just to let you know, most updates aren't going to come as quickly as they will these next few days. I had this plot bunny, but its grown into a plot beast, so expect plenty of chapters around 2,000 words. I'm excited to explore this characterization of Kirk, because come on, that scene was the Spirky-est moment since the opposite scene in the Wrath of Khan, and in some ways even more so. Is his love requited? Just wait and see. Also I want to try and take Pine's Kirk, which I feel is often misrepresented in fic, and add a little shatner in there. Such as unnecessary touching. **

**Oh also, this may become M, like very M, in the future, though Im not sure. I'll warn you at the beginning of a chapter if it is. **

**Happy almost Independence Day to those in the USA! **

**-Natcat**


	4. Chapter 4: A Girl Named Enterprise

Due to the set backs of that day, he ended up staying in the hospital for three more instead of the originally predicted two. Still, over those three days he went from shaky and barely able to sit up to comfortable going up and down stairs on his own, without liberal use of the railing he might add.

They didn't talk about the panic attack. Jim was sure his nurse had informed Bones, but not in front of him, and his friend didn't bring it up during his daily check up call, which Jim greatly appreciated.

"You won't believe what they named their daughter Jim," Bones said, sounding half proud and half at-wits-end.

"What Bones?" So what if he sounded a little distracted. Spock was picking up the chess pieces that had scattered across the floor in last nights commotion. This task involved a lot of bending over in his tight black fatigues.

"Enterprise," that had Jim sitting up a bit and shifting at least some of his focus to the conversation at hand.

"Wait, really? You're not pulling on my leg, are you doctor?"

"No, I'm dead serious Jim. I tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't be swayed. And I've been speaking with other doctors dealing with the spike in premature births, and Enterprise has suddenly become a pretty common name in the San Francisco area."

"We'll I'll be damned."

"It doesn't stop there. Jim, Leonard, and yes, even Spock are up in record numbers. Same with Nyota, Pavel, Hiraku, and Montgomery. It's crazy out here Jim. These people have lost everything, I mean the city was pulverized, but there's still so much hope. I've been asked for god damned autographs for Christ's sake." Jim couldn't help but laugh at Bones's obviously disgruntled acceptance of his fame.

"Did you give one to them?" A string of growled swears was followed by

"Damnit Jim I'm a doctor, not a show pony." Jim couldn't respond, he was laughing too hard, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. It really wasn't that funny, but even that slight bit of humor set him off. Humans laughed at horrible things because its either that or cry. And the world had suffered a whole lot of horrible things these past few days.

"Well Jim I'm glad you're feeling better," Kirk brought himself under control, wiping his eyes and grinning at Spock, who had raised an eye brow at his antics, but it was accompanied by a nearly invisible smirk. "So you're checking out and heading to Iowa I hear,"

"Yeah, in two days. I would have gone to help with reconstruction, but because someone put me on a month of medical leave, I'm physically barred from reporting for duty."

"Jim, it is what's best for you. You need to rest-and close your mouth, aiding in reconstruction efforts does not count as rest." Jim closed his mouth, glaring at the communicator.

"You don't get it Bones, I swore I'd never go back to Iowa when I signed up for the fleet. There is nothing there for me, but I have no where else to go. Sitting around doing nothing is not going to help me get better."

"You have your house there don't you?"

"We'll my moms, yeah, but she's in the wind, I haven't spoken to her in years, except for the fleet alert three years ago that she was heading off planet. I can't imagine what shape the house is in."

"Well there you go, you have a project." Jim groaned, realizing he'd walked right into that one.

"Bones, come on, take me off medical leave. I don't have any friends in Iowa, and definitely some angry women waiting for me. I don't even have my motorbike anymore!" He was grasping at straws here.

"Stop being an infant. You shouldn't be riding a motor bike in your condition anyway, and I bet those poor women need some closure. Besides, Spock is going with you."

"What?" Jim blinked, looking at Spock, who had found all the pieces, though he had to get on his hands and knees and stretch under some medical equipment to acquire the last pawn, a view which Kirk much appreciated.

"Yeah," Bones replied. "We talked it over this morning. Nurse Wang is needed in the hospital, and none of the live in nurses in your boondock town are qualified to own a tricorder. I can't babysit you, and the last thing I want is to leave you alone to do something stupid. "

"But Aren't you needed here at temporary command?" Jim addressed his commander, the only one not given two months of shore leave.

"Yes," Spock replied, methodically resetting the chess board. "However my continued presence is no longer essential to the operation of Star Fleet, and they have acquired all intelligence reports and heeded my recommendations for the safe storage of Khan."

"I put him on medical leave too," Bones states by way of explanation. Spock nearly sighs.

"Yes. For being... Emotionally compromised." Jim puckers his lips, raising both eyebrows, not believing Bones had the gall to pull the emotionally compromised card. Spock did not look thrilled about it.

"You two work out plans. I'll call you later. McCoy out." After a moment of silence, Jim turns to Spock.

"I don't really need a babysitter, Spock. I'm sure we could arrange for you to go to South Africa with Uhura."

"I am appreciative of the offer Captain. However, Nyota informed me that she and the others of her home town will not be speaking standard or a dialect resembling one I understand. While I would be able to communicate with Nyota, I deemed that my lack of ability to communicate with others would be... Frustrating. And with all due respect Captain, my duty is to assure your health."

"Oh, well, I'm flattered Spock," he wasn't disappointed that Spock saw this as simply an act of duty. "But just to warn you, there isn't much to do in Smallville," cue eyebrow.

"Captain, I was no aware you had moved your residence from Riverside to Smallville," Spock says seriously, and Jim rubs a fist over his eyes.

"Pop culture reference Spock."

"Dully noted. However, I believe that together, we will find things to do." Kirk had to cover his cough at Spock's unintended implications, as his mind was suddenly flooded with all kinds of interesting places and ways to have sex. "Chess, for instance." Jim nodded, pulling himself back under control.

"Yes, chess. Let's play."

After a short time of quiet, companionable play, Jim stopped his considering the next move to send an exasperated sigh in Spock's direction.

"Spock, what is it? You've been staring at me for twenty minutes like I might spontaneously combust."

"Merely 4 minutes and twenty-one seconds Captain." Jim restrained yet another agitated sigh. He was tired of 'the look', even from Spock.

"Don't attempt a redirect. What is it?" Really he'd only call Spock out for the look, because he was the last person he wanted to worry.

"Captain... you have seemed disquieted ever since I mentioned the safe storage of Khan." Jim squeezed his eyes shut, returning his rook to its original position. Damn, he couldn't run away from anything these days, not even the smallest infraction. Though he didn't even consider lying-there was no point.

"I was surprised. I don't know why, but I thought, well I thought they were going to execute that man for his crimes." Jim just snaps out the last part of that sentence, fisting his sheets. "I thought he deserved to die, and they would see that. Not just because of what he did, but because of the danger his body holds.

Can't the admiralty see that? If a solution of his blood brought me back from the dead, well it's not too difficult a leap to assume Khans cells are capable of curing disease, curing birth defects, hell even brining more people back from the dead. That isn't something Star Fleet or anyone should have control of. Could you imagine a world where nobody died Spock? Even those who should? It would be chaos."

"Yes," the man says quietly, those deep brown eyes gazing at the chess board. "I believe it would be. And I fear the admiralty is preserving Khan and his crew members for the same reasons you stated as reasons for Khan to be destroyed."

"Most likely. But there is nothing we can do today, we are both on medical leave, after all." Jim moves his rook.

"Check," Jim said, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. Spock made his own move.

"Check mate," Jim, not convinced, eyed the board, then glared at the board, then scowled at the ceiling.

"Damn it."

Now here he was, up and walking (though his cane was tucked under his arm, just in case) small suitcase hovering behind him as the shuttle landed on the top of the hospital. He had insisted on going to the space port like everyone else, but Spock had denied him and pulled some strings, getting them dropped off literally on his front lawn and picked up on the roof.

"Ready to go Captain?" Said that very man, who had yet to take off his dress uniform. Though Jim really didn't mind. The pilot activated landing thrusters and they were both hit with a burst of hot air as the shuttle descended onto the pad.

"I was ready a week ago. I hate hospitals. Remind too bmuch of Tarsus Four." Spock shot him a look but let it slide, thank God. Jim never talked about Tarsus IV, and to let it slip in conversation like that, well he was really off his game. Spock undoubtably knew something about it, but the actual events were top secret.

"Shuttle now boarding for short hop to the Kirk residence," Jim recognized that voice, smile blooming on his face as he pushed through the plastic curtains and into the body of the shuttle.

"Sulu! It's good to see you. Don't tell me Bones put you on medical leave too." The man lets out a characteristic bark of laughter.

"No sir, I'm just on shuttle duty, helping out the relief efforts, and then they call me up, say you need a ride, and here I am," the man spins back forward in his chair. "It's really just a two minute detour. We were just picking up some sustainable food stuffs in India, and-" there is a squawk to his left, and low and behold, multiple crates of chickens are piled upon bags of rice where the crew would normally sit.

"Chickens?" Jim says incredulously, taking one of the two available seats on the opposite side from the chickens, next to some rice, which is much more pleasant company.

"We've got a pig in the back Captain," says Sulu's copilot, a man Kirk has never met before.

"Whats your name lieutenant?" Jim asks as Spock seats himself next to him to the sound of oinking.

"Harrison sir. Jack Harrison," Jim watches as Spock tenses and Sulu tenses and the ship jerks slightly in its previously smooth take off. Harrison obviously notices too. "What? Is there something wrong?" He turns a worried look back at Commander Spock before looking back to Sulu.

"No nothing's wrong Lieutenant Harrison. My crew is just a bit jumpy, is all." Then he continued in a terse whisper, narrowing his face at his number one. "It's just a name Spock, just a word. A word isn't going to set me off like a trigger a phaser." Spock did not look convinced, but Jim ignored him in favor of light conversation with the pilots. Though he did take a few deep breaths of Spock's scent, a heady alien spice mixed with a distinctly human make of mint-mint scented shampoo maybe?

After less than five minutes they began their descent into Iowa, and Sulu confirmed their heading with Aerospace control , taking them down towards the sprawling green and gold fields, a sharper focus emerging as they neared the small white dot which expanded into his mom's, well, his now, ancient farmhouse, set slightly back off a non-magnetic road, that's how historically accurate the home was.

Kirk was disappointed. The entire flight, he'd been so desperately hoping something would go wrong. An engine would explode, a Klingon warbird would be sighted in near earth space, hell he even hoped the pig would break free and run amok. Anything at all other than this humdrum existence of the past few weeks, staring out windows and pining after his first officer.

With a rocking thump they landed, Kirk making his goodbyes and Spock nodding, each grabbing their luggage and descending the ramp. Kirk waved as the shuttle lifted off, and Spock stood statically at his side-waving at a departing ship without an adjustable viewing screen was undoubtably illogical.

Then he was forced to turn towards the house he'd never thought he'd see again.

**Happy Independence Day! (To those in the USA) **

**More emotional action and action action in the chapters to come (and maybe some reviews? I won't often ask. There's a barely clothed Kirk coming up, and he'll arrive faster, I promise you that) **

**kirk does have childhood trauma, and it does affect him, but I don't think he'd let it define him, so through out there will be mentions of horrid things that happened but he will just brush by them(and as a consequence i wont really elaborate on them)-its just his way of dealing, not him being cold... Idk if it was necessary to tell you guys that. **

**Happy Birthday America! **

**Natcat**


	5. Chapter 5: The Dust Debacle

It wasn't as run down as he expected. In fact, it looked practically structurally sound. The porch seemed level and unaffected by termites, though a little rotten around the edges where the white paint had peeled away. The whicker bench where his mother used to sit and drink whiskey was still standing, miraculously. The glass was all whole in the windows, if dirty.

"Home sweet home," Kirk grumbled as the shuttle went supersonic over the house and exited the atmosphere. Spock stepped up to his side, carrying his own bags and Kirk's, because the hover function didn't work without magnetic gridding.

"We should enter Captain, bad weather is approaching."

"Really?" Jim glanced at the sky, streaked by a few high flying clouds. "It doesn't look like it."

"An irrigation front Captain, it is scheduled to cross the Great Plains today."

"Right, terraforming. I'm still not used to them doing it on Earth, you know? I've always associated it with colonies, Mars even, but not here." Jim took the steps, testing each ones ability to take his weight before stepping fully onto the porch.

"Careful Spock, you're denser than a human, and this porch is-" there was a crunch and Jim turned to find Spock ankle deep in rotten wood, staring at his foot like it betrayed him. Jim muffled his laughter, turning back to the front door, pulling open the screen.

With a screech the hinges gave way, and the rusted door pulled off in his hand.

"Well that's just great," Jim muttered, leaning the door up against the window. "Let's pray that the thumb scanner still works, and that my mom didn't delete my print from the registry."

"Praying in this instance is illogical Captain, for-"

"Figure of speech Spock, And this is going to be a long month if you insist on calling me Captain. Not only are we not on duty, we are on temporary leave from Star Fleet, in the middle of Iowa, alone. So please, please call me Jim, or James, or Kirk if you absolutely must." The door beeped and Jim resisted the need to whoop at his success, pushing into the dark, musty house.

The damage inside was not as bad as outside. The floors were solid and undamaged by water, and only one photo had torn its nail out of the wall and crashed to the floor. (His dad had liked antique things, thats why he had bought the technologically ancient house in the middle of nowhere.)

Stepping around the fragments of safety glass he wandered into the kitchen, which really consisted of the ancient replicator, empty cabinets, and the breakfast table Sam had used as a shield between him and Frank after he smashed a bottle of rum over his head.

Spock sneezed behind him, and Jim couldn't help a quick snort as he turned in time to witness another Vulcan sneeze, which was oddly cat like. Spock then shook his head.

"I am sorry Captain, it is very-" he was interrupted by another sneeze. "Dusty."

"Tell me about it," Jim muttered, not really wanting to touch the thick layer of gray the settled across everything, even as the disturbed particles drifted about. "Well I'm sorry Spock, I know this wasn't in your job description, but we have to clean." With a resigned sigh Jim retreated to the hall closet, realizing there was so much dust they had left footprints in it. Shaking his head in disgust, he pulled out the pad mop, duster, old cloths, and the ancient cleaning bot that probably didn't work. He pressed the power button to test his hypothesis. It flickered for a moment before sighing and going dark.

Jim returned to the kitchen to find Spock had thrown open the curtains, letting the sun stream in, highlighting the spiderwebs in the windows and even more dust, but everything else was rather clean. He'd opened the side door, but the screen door was missing there too.

"Captain," he intoned, and Jim wasn't sure whether he wanted to punch him or, well, punch him. Was it so hard to call him- "Jim, I believe you should see this."

Intrigued, he dumped the cleaning supplies on the table and took the step out onto the concrete. Spock was holding the screen door in one hand, it seemed he'd run into the same problem Jim had earlier. Yet he wasn't looking at the door, but towards the horizon. Jim followed his gaze, and his heart leapt into his throat.

"Shit."

**Sorry guys, short and a cliff hanger, but it may be updated twice today to make up for it.**

**-Natcat**


	6. Chapter 6: Spiderwebs

"That isn't an irrigation front," Jim said stupidly as they watched the roiling bruise colored clouds rapidly approach.

"It is not," the wind picked up even as they stood there, blowing Jim's hair, and mussing Spock's perfect bangs. It smelled like rain, the violent kind. Thunder growled in the distance, and lightning lit up the clouds as they groaned.

Jim and Spock's communicators beeped simultaneously, and as they flicked open the staunch computer warning echoed.

"Tornado warning for your location. If it is possible, beam out of the potential touchdown zone. If not, seek shelter immediately."

"This day just gets better and better," Jim groaned for Spock's benefit. However,MHD was thrilled that something so magnificent, so dangerous, was finally happening.

"Does this house possess a shelter?" Spock asked, brining the broken screen door into his home, which was a good idea. Jim ran to the front and did the same with the other screen, locking the wooden door, before not quite running back to the kitchen (running hadn't been such a good idea in the first place) and locking the side door, checking to make sure all the other windows on the first floor were locked as well.

"Yes, there is a cellar. I'm worried that the house will come down on top of us though." That had some of Jim's excitement withering. Spock had already flipped his communicator open again.

"I am ordering an emergency beam out from Star Fleet Command."

"Spock, I don't think that's going to work."

"Earth Transport Command, this is acting captain Spock, requesting emergency beam out." They both waited, Jim with baited breath, for the few seconds of silence. Then the communicator buzzed.

"Unable to reach Earth Transport Command. Try again later." Jim worried for the safety of the small plastic device as Spock's hand closed tightly around it.

"There's always a lot of ionic interference from intense electrical storms like this one," Jim rationalized, "We should probably take our belongings and get to the cellar now." Hail was starting to bang into the house, cracking against the windows.

"The logical course of action. I will take our belongings. Lead the way Captain."

Jim gladly obliged, (finally some action in his life, something to dig his teeth into) opening the door that lead to the basement, well, it was really more of a cellar. The stairs were particularly creaky, but they held under Spock's denser body structure and carried them all the way to the concrete floor. Jim waved his hands through the coating of spiderwebs and managed to find the pull cord to the lights, illuminating the cellar in a weak yellowish glow. Plastic crates of old things cluttered the already small amount of available space. Shoving a few over, they never used to be this heavy, he cleared room for Spock and him to sit with their backs to the cement.

Jim slid down the wall, glad it was cool and not really minding the chalkiness that sprinkled across his face and shoulders. Spock dropped the bags and came to sit beside him, sleek body sliding gracefully to his side.

And he was covered with cobwebs.

"Spock," Jim chuckled, reaching over and beginning to clean his friends hair, pulling the strands away from the perfect bangs. "You are covered in cobwebs."

"I am," Jim stopped mid motion, that voice was deep, rolling like the thunder outside. Jim examined Spock's eyes, but he couldn't tell of the pupils were blown, it was just too dark. "You are as well Captain," those thin hands began flicking over his own hair, removing the webs, though unlike Jim's movements, there was very little actual contact between Spock's hands and Jim's head.

Jim wanted to kiss Spock.

The light flickered, and then went out as the wind began to howl even louder over the plain.

Rephrase.

Jim really wanted to kiss Spock.

He let his hands trail downs his friends hair to rest on his shoulders. But for just a moment. He let them drop to his own lap before he could do anything stupid. Trust him, it was almost impossible. Jim always took what he wanted, without fear of the consequences. But losing Spock's friendship was too high a price to pay for his unreasonable infatuation with the man.

Even if they were sitting shoulder to shoulder alone in the dark.

Jim shifted uncomfortably, trying to fight back all the fantasies that were popping up in his head. Grabbing Spock's neck and just kissing him. Tearing off Spock's clothes. Pressing him naked and begging to the wall. Pressing him naked and begging to the floor. Spock pressing him-

There was a conclusive bang of thunder and Jim jumped, fear and surprise as good a mood killer as any.

"I believe the house was just struck by lightning Captain," Spock helpfully informed, his deadpan also helping to dispel the notions of breathy begging.

"Yeah," Jim was distracted. He was starting to get nervous now. The wind had passed howling a long time ago. Now, well, now it was screaming, roaring, it sounded like a Galaxy Class star ship was coming in for a landing right above their heads. He could also make out a flapping, snapping sound, which was most likely pieces of the roof tearing away.

Then the entire house began to groan, and there was a distinct shatter of one window or another. The entire structure was tugging at its foundation, straining to go airborne.

For the first time Jim actually considered the possibility that they might die.

Grabbing Spock's arm at another loud crack, Jim was swamped with a wave of fear that he couldn't beat back. Once again he was helpless. Once again he could do nothing to change his fate.

"Oh God," Jim moaned, trying desperately to take deep breaths. "Not again."

"Captain, you must, Captain, Jim," Spock snapped, prying Jim's hand off his forearm, he must have been crushing it. "Jim, you must calm down. Look at me."

"Not again, oh god not again," it was like the weight of the house had just fallen on his chest.

Spock released his tight grip on Kirks own fore arm to lift his own hand in the Vulcan salute and press Jim's hand to his own.

"Jim, it is okay. I am here. I will never leave your side." Jim focused on Spock's voice, the calm in the center of the tornado, pulling himself out of his anxiety event, letting the panic drain away.

Spock's hand, strong and hot, pressed tightly to his own. Slowly, because it took a lot of concentration, Jim shifted his own hand until it exactly mirrored Spock's, and this time there was no glass between them.

He knew this was how vulcans kissed. He just didn't know if Spock knew that he understood the connotations of his actions. Human hands were sensitive, if not as sensitive as Vulcan ones, and the action was pleasurable for himself as well.

He almost blurted out what he had wanted to say since waking up.

But instead of I love you, he just said

"Thank you, Spock."


	7. Chapter 7: Goodnight Captain

The tornado had passed within one thousand meters of the farm house. Had it been a direct hit, they may not have survived. According to the global weather service, the storm had actually been the irrigation front, however an unexpected alteration in the jet stream brought hot air off the gulf into the area, resulting in the development of violent storms at the head of the front.

Once electrical interference had died down, Spock, through Star Fleet, managed to get the head of the Earth Terraforming Conglomerate on the communicator, and boy did he chew that man out, in a very Spock fashion of course. Jim almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

Now, it was just raining, thick sheets of silver rain falling from the sky as he climbed the stairs, cane in one hand, railing in the other. The fear exhausted Jim, though he was at loathe to admit it. It would be better once he was physically back to where he used to be. He'd feel more in control.

Jim took the last few steps, making the turn towards the sound of water pouring into the house.

Both his mother's bedroom and his brother's bedroom were compromised, the roof had torn away in places. Water was dripping from the ceiling in his brothers room, but he could actually see some of the sky in his mother's room, and water wasn't dripping, it was rushing.

He grabbed a bucket from the bathroom and some musty towels from the linen closet. Wiping up the puddle on the floor of his brothers room, he placed the bucket underneath the drip, solving the problem for now.

He almost just wanted to shut the door to his mother's room and ignore the problem, but then the rest of the house would be ruined (more than it already was).

"Spock," he shouted, and the man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "In the basement there's a couple plastic tarps and a staple gun. Can you grab them?"

"Yes Captain," Spock intoned, and disappeared into the basement. Jim, shaking his head in the this-is-not-a-starship way, returned to the breach. This is the room where the window had blown in, and using the worst smelling towels he did his best to mop up the excess water and glass fragments, tearing down the billowing curtains that kept hitting him in the face.

Spock appeared after a few moments, and didn't need any instruction once he saw the state of the room. He was tall enough to staple the tarp to the ceiling and the window, sealing off the room. He then took the towel from Jim, proceeded to mop up the rest of the water and glass, throw the towel in the trash, and usher Jim out of the room, closing the thick door behind him.

"Jim, you need rest. Why do you not lie down?" Jim was about to argue, but a yawn cut him off, and when he could see again, Spock was raising that damn eyebrow.

"Fine," he sighed, "but don't let me sleep too long."

"I will not Captain."

"Sure," Jim chuckled, knowing full well Spock would not wake him if he was soundly asleep.

His room was miraculously undamaged by the near-miss, though it was on the far side of the house. It was just as empty as he remembered it, sun lightened desk on one side, double bed crammed between the two windows, bureau with his pants and closet with his shirts and jackets. Absently he wondered if his old clothes would still fit as he touched his stomach. He'd bulked up in star fleet, and not just muscle. Less alcohol and more food can do that to you.

Jim sat on the edge of his bed, which creaked ominously, unlacing his boots and tugging off his socks, throwing his fatigue shirt across the room and dropping his pants before climbing into bed.

God it was humid, but his bed really was very comfortable, and he barely shook out the dusty sheets before collapsing to the pillow and falling into an exhausted sleep, something he had been doing too much of since he had died.

He awoke slowly, (a new feeling, as he had not slept without drugs since his rebirth) to a scratching on the floor. Automatically he sat up, scrabbling on his nightstand for his phaser, which was painfully absent.

"Captain, I am sorry to have awoken you, that was not my intention." Spock's stooped figure comes into focus as he continued dragging... A mattress into the room.

"Don't sweat it. Why are you brining a mattress in here though?" Not that Jim was complaining. A soft breeze shook the room, splattering the drizzle against the screen of the now open window. It was night, but a light glowed from downstairs, the wireless power station must be back online.

"The other bedrooms are all compromised to the elements. If you do not wish me to sleep in the same quarters as you, I will move downstairs."

"No, no I don't mind at all." Jim's heart jumped slightly at the idea of sleeping in the same room as Spock, just a few meters of space between them, surrounded by darkness and lacking clothing.

Remembering his current state of dress, Jim decided to capitalize on the opportunity, rolling out of bed and standing up, walking around the room and collecting his scattered clothes, trying to get a check out, a look, a glance, anything, but if Spock looked, he managed to without Jim noticing.

Finished arranging the mattress, Spock stood. "I have prepared dinner Captain, if you are hungry."

"Oh, wow, thank you Spock, I'll be right down." With a curt nod Spock turned on his heel and exited the room. Once he was out of Vulcan earshot, Jim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sure to make a fool of himself if he kept this up.

He had to remember Spock was a Vulcan. Attraction worked differently, dating worked differently, sex worked differently. Supposedly a full Vulcan could only get it up for a week every seven years, and he had no idea if that applied to Spock, though he and Uhura had gotten it on some how.

Uhura. Right.

Ignoring his shaking hands, they never seemed to stop, he rifled through his old clothes, pulling on what used to be his favorite pair of jeans and his star fleet fatigue shirt from earlier today, padding down the stairs. He purposefully left his cane leaning against the bed frame. He needed to ween himself off of it.

Already things were different.

The thick layer of dust that had coated everything, that was gone. The picture that had fallen in the hall was hanging again, glass fragments cleaned up. The kitchen was bright with fluorescent light and smelled like food instead of mold. The cobwebs were gone, the window was open, and God, he'd scrubbed and organized the cabinets.

"Spock, have you been cleaning?" Jim asked, sliding to the opposite side of the table from where the man was checking his Padd.

"Yes Captain. I deemed it necessary because-" Jim held up his hand.

"Thank you Spock, I appreciate it. But you should have waited for me to wake up before doing all this work!" Jim dug into his burger and fires because, yes, Spock had replicated him just what he thought he wanted, though instead of beer there was Bones's prescribed milk, which made him feel ten, but it was a small sacrifice.

"It was not too arduous a task, and you needed rest and the house needed cleaning. There are many more things to be done Captain." His own response was obstructed by food so Jim went with a nod instead. God, he was hungry. Dropping off a four thousand calorie diet was rough.

Spock was eating an (unpleasant) looking salad, the kind with a lot of weeds, as he liked to call them, though they were probably some gourmet greens. Really too quickly he'd finished his meal, and Spock wasn't halfway done with his.

Rather jittery after such a long nap, Jim jumped up and ran his dish and silverware through the infrared scrubber, placing them back in the cabinet. No need for the replicator to have to make the same utensils again. He then sat back down at the table, watching Spock methodically cut and chew his rabbit food- salad.

He didn't even realize he was drumming his fingers and tapping his foot until Spock looked up at him, right eyebrow raised this time.

"Jim, why don't you attempt to fix the cleaning bot,"

"Good idea," Jim went over to where the small round disc was lying belly up on the counter, dropping it on the table before hunting for his tool box, retuning to where he was eating a moment before, opening the cover, and inserting himself wrist deep into wiring, machinery, and circuitry.

Soon the world faded away, and it was just comforting wiring and circuitry. He realized it probably only needed batteries, but he planned on making the machine more efficient so it would need only one or two working batteries rather than the ten it required now. He was so engrossed in this pleasant distraction he only noticed Spock standing beside him when he placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I suggest moving this," Spock leaned in across Jim, unplugging a wire, twining it with another, and plugging it into a different port."Here. That should up the efficiency by twenty-one percent, approximately."

"Yes, I see," Jim grinned at Spock, half thrilled at the new ideas flooding into his mind, half buzzing from the slight brush of contact across his front. He really didn't know why he got so high from light brushes with Spock. He touched people all the time, and was touched back, some times intimately, quite often. He should be desensitized to simple things like an elbow brushing across his chest, or the whisk of air that followed his movements, scented with Spock's subtle pheromones. Maybe that was it. Vulcan ph-

"I am going to retire Captain." Spock had retreated to a more usual distance during Jim's musings. "Do you require nothing else of me?" Jim wanted to drop his head into his hands, but they were covered in grease.

"We're friends right now Spock, not officers. I don't require anything of you, at anytime." But Spock was already walking up the stairs.

For the first time, Jim wondered if he could break Spock's shell. Was it impossible, even for Jim Kirk? Could he get this man to love him?

When he realized what he just thought, Jim placed the pair of tweezers down and leaned back in his chair.

"Is that really what I'm trying to do here?" He murmured to himself, gripping the edge of the table very tightly. "Am I trying to seduce Spock?"

Seduce wasn't the right word though. He didn't just want to sleep with Spock, but he was definitely not opposed to the idea. Jim seduced beautiful women into bed by smiling and complimenting them and flexing his star fleet rank and awards. That wasn't what he was doing with Spock, or even wanted to do with the man.

Jim had loved people before. He had loved his mom for a while, until she stopped being his mom and became Winona. He loved Sam, wherever he was. He'd even loved a few girls, or thought he loved them, for a short period of time, until they either rejected him or he realized they weren't all they seemed to be up front. But Jim had never tried to make someone love him, well, except his mom really. Jim doubted it was possible-it seemed like something predetermined, something he couldn't influence.

Jim groaned, delving back into work to distract himself from yet another no-win scenario. At least he could fix this bot and worry about the incorporeal later.

He wasn't sure exactly when he finished working, but it seemed very late, judging by the amount of crickets and location of the recently revealed moon. Still, he was satisfied, and placed the now whirring robot on to the floor, watching with a triumphant smile as it buzzed away.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he climbed the stairs with growing anticipation, excited to see Spock's face relaxed in sleep. Jim ever so quietly threaded across the creaky floor, turning off the light in the hall before entering the room.

Spock's eyes flicked open as the door swung in. He wasn't even sleeping, just sitting cross legged on his mattress. Meditation. He vaguely remembered that as part of Vulcan culture in xenosociology.

"Hello Jim," Soock said, voice as cool and calm as usual, no fuzziness from sleep like that night when Nyota stopped by. But he did say Jim, which was good enough.

"Hey Spock," Jim said, shuffling across the very dark room, hands extended in front of him until his shin bumped into his bed. Moving around to the far side he shirked his jeans and shirt, sighing as the cool breeze washed across his skin. He didn't even bother with an enticing dance, it was too hot and too dark.

"Jim, may I inquire as to why you are undressing?" Spock had yet to lie down, and was still sitting uncomfortably straight on the coverlet of the mattress.

"Well it's really hot, and this is how I usually sleep. If it makes you uncomfortable I can find something to wear," The last thing Jim wanted was to scare Spock off.

"It does not make me uncomfortable."

"Good, because I wasn't planning on putting clothes on anyway," Jim crawled across his mattress, flinging the loose sheet across his body. As Jim's eyes adjust to the faint moonlight, he watches Spock's silhouette recline on his own mattress, perfectly in the center, arms neatly folded, just like a corpse.

They lie in silence for a few minutes before Jim blurted,

"Did you talk to McCoy today?" There is a short pause.

"No. Why the query?" Jim sits up in bed and looks at Spock. He can't see his face clearly, but he can make out the shimmering of light across s dark eyes.

"You can't tell him about the panic attack today." Spock sits up.

"Jim, it is illogical to hide things from ones physician. That will prevent them from treating you effectively. Especially because Doctor McCoy is your friend." Jim groans and flops back onto his bed.

"No Spock, you don't understand. You can't tell him, or I'll lose the ship."

"Jim, I fail to see how informing Doctor McCoy of the event today will endanger your captaincy." Spock was getting irritated but Jim couldn't let him.

"Well lets see. I touched a wall of glass and had a violent flashback of when I was trapped in the reactor. I fell over in the hall at and couldn't get up again, which sent me into a panic so intense it gave me symptoms of a heart attack. A tornado is bearing down on us and suddenly I'm so scared I can't think straight and you have to physically shake me out of it. Do you see a pattern here, Spock? For some reason, I can't seem to handle stress anymore. And what is the point of being a Starship Captain?"

"To lead the crew in times of crisis," is the very quiet reply.

"Exactly," to Jim's horror, his voice cracks. He couldn't help it. The thought of losing everything, losing everyone, having the Enterprise taken away from him after having sacrificed everything for her, it was Hell. If that happened, Jim would prefer to be dead. "Do you see why no one can know how fragile I am right now? Not even Bones can know." There is a long pause, and Jim knows Spock is weighing his options. He stares at the ancient ceiling fan, spinning endlessly around.

"I acquiesce, I will not inform the Doctor. And Jim, you simply need time. Nurse Wang did not inform you of this, but she stated to me that you have suffered great emotional injury, and just like a physical injury, it requires time to heal. I believe you will be well again soon, but it is illogical to expect immediate results." Jim smiled faintly at the use of illogical.

"Thank you Spock, for believing in me."

"No thanks are necessary."

"Well, Night."

"Goodnight, Captain."

**Hey sorry I haven't updated in a few days, I've just been busy! **

**Natcat **


	8. Chapter 8: Fear and Hope

Jim awoke suddenly, gasping and sitting straight up in bed, sheets stuck to his chest. Iowan sun filtered into his room, turning everything a pleasing shade of gold. Yawning, he stretched his sore back, he hadn't slept in a real bed in years, and the sensation was odd.

He had no idea what he'd been dreaming about, but obviously something stressful because he was coated in sweat. Blinking he turned to the side, expecting Spock's mattress to be neatly made up and empty.

Instead, he got what he had been so looking forward to last night. Spock was lying on his side, one arm hanging out from under his sheet, pale hand trailing in the sun. His face was softened in sleep, he didn't look happy, nor sad either, just... At peace.

As Jim watched, Spock's lips fell open and he sighed softly, shifting slightly, hiding that hand from the sun again. Jim's breath caught for it wasn't difficult for him to move that figure a meter over and a meter up-into his bed. Jim physically ached to smooth that mussed hair, to be there for this man who supported him and all his fallacies even after he tore out his heart in front of the entire bridge crew, and his father.

Spock looked so human, lying there. When he awoke, it was easy to see how Vulcan he truly was. But asleep, if you ignored the ears and eyebrows, he looked like a human. But if he was, Jim would have had him in this bed already, face pressed to the sheets. But Jim probably wouldn't be so perplexed and interested in the man if he were human. Paradoxical.

Thinking about Spock moaning his name into a pillow really hadn't been the best idea wearing only boxers while occupying the same room as the man. He needed a cold shower, stat.

Sliding out of bed and about his room, he collected clothes for the anticipated work ahead of him. He had a sinking feeling that the barn on the property had been destroyed by the tornado, and that was going to need a lot of work to clean up. Just as he was leaving the damn door squeaked, giving him away.

"Jim?" Spock murmured, sitting halfway up. His eyelid lifted upwards, revealing bleary brown eyes. Then another membrane flicked sideways across his eyes, sliding away from his tear ducts and revealing bright, clear irises. Double lidded, Jim vaguely recalled that from xenobiology. Living with Spock was like a walking case study-or maybe he was applying too much of his learning.

"I'm just going to go take a shower," he kept his clothes strategically in front of his body. "Go back to sleep. You did a lot of work yesterday." Then Spock (finally, really, how much self control did the man have?) looked him up and down. Slowly too, those glittering eyes evaluating, calculating. Jim was used to getting checked out, but it was a little nerve racking when he was trying to hide a morning erection from his first officer: especially an erection acquired by fantasizing about said first officer.

"Logical, as you do appear to have perspired signifigantly during the night." Not necessarily due to the heat, but Jim still didn't remember his dream.

"Thanks for permission," Jim snarked with a smile, shaking his head and walking away from the words "that statement was illogical".

Jim took a very quick, very cold shower before dressing and heading down stairs. Refreshed, Jim replicated himself a hardy American breakfast that would give Bones a heart attack and Jim one in the future, before asking his Padd what Vulcans liked for breakfast. He proceeded to jury-rig the replicator to create the closet possible substitute, which looked a lot like oatmeal with exotic, hopefully not poisonous, berries on top. Keeping the bowl hot on the replicator tray, Jim sat down to eat, ordering the holo vision on through a mouth full of French toast.

The HV was on a news station, discussing the recovery of San Francisco with snippets of London. Jim grumbled about not being there, mostly focused on his food.

Well, until the newscaster said Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise. Fork hallway to his mouth Jim glanced, and then stared at the news reel, cut together from security footage, satellite footage, and amateur video. Jim watched as Spock beamed down, chased Khan through the panicked streets, leapt onto a garbage barge and fought with the man, before leaping nearly thirty meters off that barge and onto another one, watched Uhura appear and stun Khan maybe ten, eleven times though the man still didn't go down, watch her scream something to Spock who was beating the man to death, before watching all three of them be beamed away again. He was out of breath just watching, though half from fear for his crew.

The fighting itself was incredible. Khan seemed to have the strength of ten men, and stunning didn't have any affect in him, even the nerve pinch did almost nothing to incapacitate Khan. Spock literally beat his face with a chunk of steel, and the man didn't go down.

Spock, beat Khan's face, with a chunk of steel.

Steel he'd ripped off the barge. With his bare hands.

Spock took every punch the super human threw at him, and kept up with the mad mans every move. He was a Vulcan, but still, only half. No man should survive a jump like he made from one barge to the next. No man should get up from that and keep fighting.

No man should have jumped in the first place.

Hope.

Jim was suddenly flooded with hope. Spock's actions proved to him that he deeply cared for Jim, in some way or another, maybe in an unarticulated manner, and maybe just as a brother, but there was some great form of affection there. It had to be, for Spock to so totally release all the control he held so dear and revert back to the homicidal rage of his ancestors.

Fear.

Fear followed the hope. That was the rage Jim had faced after he goaded Spock into revealing how compromised he was after the death of his mother and his planet. It very well could have been Jim getting hit in the face with a chunk of metal ripped off the bridge of the Enterprise. Except he would have survived only one hit before his neck snapped or a fragment of his skull punctured his brain. Without Sarek's intervention, Jim could have easily died on the Enterprise three years ago, instead of just a few weeks ago. And Spock, though at loathe to admit it, was under equal or more emotional strain than Jim was. He could snap again. And every time he snapped, it always involved Jim.

"Jesus Christ," Jim uttered when the footage was over. What he didn't understand is why no one had shown this to him sooner.

"You were never meant to see that, Captain," Jim whirled, blunt knife waving in the air in a most deadly fashion, calming once his brain caught up with his reflexes.

Well, that was a convenient answer to his question. "I never wished for you to see me so..." Jim would have bet one hundred credits that Spock was going to say emotionally compromised. "...broken."

Despite the adjective that had Jim's heart twisting even though he was the one who had died, Spock's voice was cold, calm. He moved over to the replicator, found his food already made and his place already set, and sat down without further ado.

"Spock," Jim said, reaching across the table to take Spock's shoulder in his hands. "I don't need to be a bezatoid to see that you're ashamed of your actions that day. You saved my life. Wile your actions were violent, and not Vulcan, they were very human. And you are half human Spock. Do not be ashamed of who you are." Jim released the warm shoulder and returned to eating. He took three more bites of egg before his number one spoke again.

"Captain, I am going to tell you something I have yet to tell anyone, for I feel that it is necessary you know this before you continue to entertain me as a possibility for the position of first officer on your assured assignment to a five year mission."

"You're definite position, there are no ther candidates, and never will be."

"Jim, you must listen and then decide." Spock seems mildly impatient, but nothing more. "When I was fighting Khan, I was going to kill him. I wanted to. I wanted to hear the crack of his skull and his screams of pain and watch him choke on his own blood as I tore out his throat. I wanted to meld with him and tear his mind apart, I wanted to feel him go insane as I broke his bones." This is all revealed in deadpan, with those deep human eyes fixed on Jim's. "I would have, if Uhura had not stopped me. She nearly did not. That is not the mental state of someone you wish to have by your side."

Jim knew there was only one way to convince Spock that what he did was not wrong, in the situation. That Jim would never reject him for who he was, whether this cold modern Vulcan, emotional human, or violent ancient Vulcan.

Jim pushed his chair out. Stood. Walked over to Spock. Grabbed the mans wrist. Despite bewildered protest, laid Spock's hand on his meld points.

**Some excitement this chapter, at least emotionally. I should update soon! (apologies for typos, no beta) :)**

-Natcat


	9. Chapter 9: Starshine

There was very brief emotional transference with the brush of contact before Spock shut down the connection as a reflex more than anything else. Jim assumed as much because he had kind of assaulted his first officer. He knew that from the brief flash of thoughts he had acquired from the meld, such as astonishment and reproach all speckled with fear. He jus hope Spock hadn't gotten anything unintended.

So maybe he hadn't thought his plan through entirely, but Jim knew the idea was solid, and it needed to happen soon. Spock shouldn't hold this doubt any longer.

Just maybe Jim should have attempted his plan after the consent of his number one. And maybe after Jim had sifted out, not necessarily his love, but all the love that pertained to unrealistic closeness between the two of them, metaphysically and physically.

So sex, basically.

"Jim," Spock sounded positively affronted, well, for Spock. "Why did you try an initiate a non consensual mind meld with me?"

Jim smiled to cover his embarrassment. "Sorry for grabbing you Spock, but you'll always have these horrible doubts unless you see for yourself that I trust you completely." Spock ever so slightly lowered his eyebrows and ever so slightly puckered his lips. Jim was getting better at reading his expressions, clinging to the hope that one day one would say "do me".

"Your reasoning is sound. I will only skim the surface layer of your thoughts, and only examine those pertaining to myself. Is that acceptable Captain?"

"That was the plan," Jim said, attaching his I'm-a-starship-captain-and-handsome smile. Though admittedly, he was nervous that his control wasn't as good as he previously thought. What if he slipped up?

Too late now.

Spock's strong hand reached forward, pausing for an instant above his face, before pleasantly cool fingers touched along Jim's meld points, at first very gently, but then applying more pressure. Jim had to hold his face steady with increased attention, but then he felt it.

When Spock Prime had melded with him, he had been hit with a deluge of images, feelings and words, a torrent so violent 'Jim' was nearly wiped away. This was totally different. It almost felt as if someone was lightly tapping on the inside of his skull, before the feeling penetrated deeper, dipping his head in lukewarm water.

Jim found himself trying desperately not to try too hard to display only platonic thoughts, and therefore display those thoughts he was desperately trying to hide. However, he managed to send Spock a series of instances where they had worked exactly in tandem, such as durning their beaming aboard the Narada, on a few away missions such as the one where Jim had to kill Gary, and their joint decisions during the 'Wrath of Khan'.

That's where he tripped up, going to Kahn's attacks. It hit too close to what he was trying to hide, what he was keeping a secret. And by not thinking about it he kept thinking about it, but somehow he knew that Spock's reach was only on the edge, and these thoughts weren't quite there yet.

So in a last ditch effort, Jim redirected his thoughts to their future. He displayed all the thoughts that came to mind, the two of them ducking through a tropical jungle, Spock looking at his tricorder. Spock and him negotiating a new treaty between a system and the federation. Spock and him making first contact with a new species.

Jim was receiving a little emotional transference, and he let his numb face smile as the mans own contentment (as close to happy as surface Spock would ever get) wash over him in comforting waves, like a lapping warm lake back in an Iowa summer.

The final thought of the meld was unintended-Jim didn't even know it existed.

The thought of summer triggered it. Jim and Spock were alone on the bridge, and there was a star rising in the view screen, so bright the entire bridge was nearly obscured by white gold light. Jim was sitting in the captains chair, smiling up at Spock who stood beside him. Spock was smiling at Jim with his eyes in the way that he does.

And Jim was holding Spock's hand, or maybe the other way around. Either way, their hands were clasped and gripped each other tightly. This was no accidental brush. Jim tried to block the thought, but it was too late, and Spock was dissolving the meld. Jesus, he didn't even know about that one. Jim wasn't usually so romantic, actually, almost never. His fantasies were usually much more...vulgar.

"See Spock?" Jim said, returning to his seat on the other side of the room, praying silently the man wouldn't bring up the final image, but Jim was already spinning a cover up. "I trust you completely and utterly. And we're the best team in Star Fleet. Do you think I want to break that?"

"No, Captain," Spock said, picking up his spoon and continuing to eat his oatmeal like nothing had transpired. "I now comprehend your previous statements." Jim went back to watching the news, beginning his bacon. He was home free.

Spock paused in eating. "Jim," Kirk winced, he knew what was coming. "What was the meaning of your final thought? I believe hand holding, in human culture, is seen as ... Romantic in nature."

Damn it.

"That is true," Jim stalled by filling his mouth with bacon, chewing, and swallowing. "However, it is also a common gesture between the closest of friends, to show support and general affection." Wow, he had pulled that out of his ass.

Spock seemed to consider his response for a moment, rolling the idea around on his tongue.

"I can show you references if you want," Jim said, and regretted it instantly. If he was going to be negotiating treaties, he needed to get better at creative truth telling.

"Not necessary Captain. I understand the sentiment." And he went back to eating. Jim had been sure he was going to talk about the sensitivity of Vulcan hands and lecture Jim on the illogical nature of his thought, for vulcans kiss with their hands.

But Spock didn't.

Jim remembers the gesture of comfort Spock gave him in the cellar while he had his breakdown. That involved quite a bit of hand touching, and it was initiated by Spock. That would be considered quite a bit more than a peck with what Jim determined as Vulcan kissing.

But Spock did it, and didn't bring it up now. Maybe Jim was remembering class incorrectly, and Vulcans didn't really kiss with their fingers except in ceremony. The more that he thought about it, the surer he became that vulcans only kissed with two fingers in ceremony.

Hmm.

Jim flicked the remote and changed the channel.

**Hey, promised chapter up!**

**So I feel the need to explain myself a little. The mind meld is an intimate thing, even in canon. Accessing someone's mind is deeply personal. However, I feel in a lot of fic, the mind meld is made into mind sex (I do this in my other ST fic, so I'm including myself in this) but its not mind sex, not in canon anyway. I mean Spock melds with a silicon life form and a whale in TOS, so I'd hope it isn't mind sex. Though I do believe that it can be made into that if initiated during sex. Still, I'm trying to keep this story ultra canon. (Spirk is canon. Watch the death scene in wrath of Khan and in STID) **

**However, this was a very shallow meld, and therefore Spock didn't have intimate access to any of Jim's more guarded thoughts, such as his love of Spock. If he had dug deeper, it would have been easy to find, but he didn't. Though Jim loves Spock so much, there was some gooshy bleed through-but Jim is good at truth-bending. **

**Spock isn't dumb guys. But this is totally from Jim's pov, so we don't know what he's thinking. **

**Hint. Hint. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. **

**Sorry for maintaining the sexual tension and for this long note XD**

**-Natcat**


	10. Chapter 10: Blue

**This chapter is sad. I cried while writing it. Just warning you. **

It was a rough day.

Jim had been right, the barn no longer existed, aside from its concrete foundation and a few scattered boards. The main structure had been shifted, crushed, and twisted, as if by a careless toddler.

Before venturing out to the barn, Jim and Spock had cleaned everything-thoroughly. They swept, they scrubbed and scrapped and even painted after Jim dug a can of white paint out of a box in the cellar. By the end, the house looked better than it ever had during Jim's lifetime, despite the tarps on his ceiling and the chunks of missing roof.

His ceiling. Well, technically the house was his now, as star fleet had no idea where his mother was, and neither did he. Nor did he really care at this point. He'd given up worrying about her.

The sun was just setting on the plain when he ventured out to see if he could find the barn, letting the re-attached screen door slam behind him. The yard around the house was indistinguishable from the agricultural fields that surrounded the the Kirk property, some of the last non-corp owned land on this section of Earth. He really needed to find the lawn mower and put it to use.

A dizzy spell hit him as he looked directly into the sun, and Jim had to pause for a moment, holding still until it dissipated. He needed more water. And maybe he should ask Spock to mow the lawn.

Jim continued his walk, pushing through the waist high grass, following his memory to where the barn was located, though he couldn't see it on the horizon. He needed to get away for a few moments.

Spock had basically done everything, all day, besides make breakfast and lunch on the replicator. Either Jim would attempt to do something, and have Spock appear, remove the tool from his hand, and inform him that his chosen task was 'too arduous' and no amount of comparing him to Bones would sway his opinion. The few things Jim had managed to do without Spock's interference had tired him out, but he couldn't let Spock see that, so he had to keep smiling and cracking jokes that weren't laughed at.

The walk was comforting, it wasn't quite so hot out side, and the wind rushed across the prairie, rolling the grain and whisking across his face. The day hadn't been all bad though. There was something distinctly pleasing about watching Spock with a broom in his hands and the pleasant look he assumed when thinking about two things at once, precisely sweeping Jim's floor. Those star fleet fatigues he wore weren't too bad either, showed just enough to keep aim focused, but not too much to give him a god damn boner like he had this morning.

His boots crunched on something and he looked down, removing his boot from a shard of glass. He had to be getting close. After a few steps the grass parted, revealing the carnage.

The wood was torn apart and scattered everywhere, along with a twisted hunk of metal that had been part of the support. Glass was every where, a long with random items that had been in the barn, like a bicycle wheel and the rest of the bicycle, a wheel barrow, and damn, the lawn mower. Maybe he could fix it. However, certain things were noticeably absent. Like the walls. And the roof.

There was a soft sound, and Jim paused, waiting for the wind to ease. There it was again, a faint mew.

Oh God.

Scrabbling through the rubble, Jim located the source of the sound. It was a kitten, orange fur bright in the setting sun, bright blue eyes staring at him in terror. Jim lifted up the rubble he was trapped under, sucking in a breath when he saw its mother and siblings, all dead. Oh God, why did they have to live in this barn, of all places? Why did the tornado have to hit here? They were just innocent creatures for Gods sake. They didn't deserve to die

"Come on little guy," Jim murmured, crouching down and cooing to the kitten. But the kitten didn't get up and scamper away. It continued to mew in terror, front paws scrabbling at the concrete. But it's hind quarters and tail didn't move. "You can do it," Jim's voice cracked as he watched the kitten struggled to stand and fall back to the ground, to lie still and breathe heavily, eyes misted with pain. "Come on. Please. You've got to get up!"

"Jim!" Spock shouted in the distance, but Jim was too preoccupied with the cat, petting its small forehead with two fingers, making soft, miserable noises. "Jim," Spock said, having approached his location. "I have been calling your name for approximately-" he stopped when he saw the suffering animal.

"He's going to die Spock," Jim murmured, continuing to pet the struggling kittens head. There was a long, long pause.

"Yes," was the soft reply. Jim turned to Spock, eyes wide with blue fire, glittering with it. Or maybe they were damper than usual. "We should do something! Call an animal hospital, have him beamed out, bring him water at least!" Spock was placing a steady hand on Jim's shoulder. "We need to do something! We can't just let it die!" He was desperate now, grabbed Spock's arm with one hand. "We're not going to just let him die."

"Jim," Spock said softly, and as Jim watched his first officers face softened to the point where it was nearly human in its sorrow. "The cat is going to perish. There is nothing to do now except give it a more painless death."

"No!" Jim said, ripping his shoulder away from Spock, looking back to the fading cat as he continued to pet it. God no. "There has to be something, there is always something!"

"Jim," Spock repeated, more firm this time. " I do not believe there is anything. But if you wish, why do you not run back to the house and acquire your communicator to call an animal hospital." With one last look at the kitten, Jim nodded and stood, running back to the house as fast as he could in his weakened state, pushing over grass, through the door, to the communicator, and back out the door and across the field.

He just in time to watch as Spock put the cat to sleep with a meld. Just in time to watch it die.

Jim had known that the cat was not going to make it, he had known since he realized its spine had been seriously injured.

But he cried anyway.

He couldn't help it. He was exhausted, and this was yet another blow to his fragile state of mind. Would God ever care again? It was just a kitten! Just a god damned kitten. Why couldn't it live? Why?

Jim rubbed the tears away as fast as he could, scrubbing his fist against his eyes and facing away from Spock until he had himself back under control. When he could meet his first officer's eyes, he saw such sharp pity that he either going to cry again or punch him in the face.

He opened door two.

It hurt his hand more than it seemed to hurt Spock, the mans head turned, but just barely.

"Why did you do that?" he screamed, mouth twisted in anger even though the tears hadn't stopped rolling from his eyes. "We could have saved him!" Jim hit him again. And again. Finally Spock grabbed his fist and prevented him from landing another blow.

"Enough," Spock snapped as Jim ripped his hand away.

"You killed it!" Jim sobbed, totally losing it. It wasn't just the kitten anymore. It was everyone who had died. The cat. Two hundred people in London. Twenty thousand in San Francisco, including Pike-a man who might as well have been his father. And one hundred and two of his crew.

He'd lost a fourth of his people. A forth. Because of his decisions. It was all him. All those deaths rested on his shoulders. If he could have just done more, pushed harder, something, anything, he could have saved some. He could have saved them all.

"No, Jim, I did not kill it. I simply eased its passage into death. It could not be saved," Spock stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was the logical decision."

"We could have tried," Jim rubbed at his eyes again, clearing the fresh tears. God, he was such a mess, and now Spock had seen it all. Splayed in the hall, physically too weak to stand. Shivering from fear in a dark basement. Crying over the death of one animal. And so angry, so furious, he punched his best friend, no, the man he loved. Three times.

"I will burry the kitten and his family." Spock released his shoulder and gave him a nudge forward. "I suggest you return to the house. You are exhausted."

Jim swayed for a moment, staring at the small broken body, fur matted with mud, blue eyes hidden forever. Then he turned and left without another word, shuffling across the plains, up the steps, and onto the couch, where he dropped heavily to the cushion and stared blankly at the holo vision, not bothering to turn it on.

He regretted walking away almost immediately. But what was he supposed to say? Sorry for punching you in the face three times? Or keep up his anger, for the sake of pretense, even though it had faded away as he looked into Spock's calm gaze and watched the sun set across those brown irises.

He'd just punched Spock.

Shit.

**I'm so sorry it's been so long since the last update. I've been away and it was difficult to find time to write, especially this chapter. I just want to let everyone know that I love cats, (my sn is Natcat) and I didn't kill the cat because I'm vengeful against them. I needed some more emotional tension-another way to break Kirk down. I. Just came to me. I admit I changed it a little, because I was reading the original version over and started sobbing, maybe because I'm a cat person, so idk if it is as sad. I'm updating tomorrow at like 10 am To make up for my lateness. Also if I didn't reply to your review, I'm sorry, gmail is weird if I get a whole bunch at once. **

**-Natcat**


	11. Chapter 11: Unnecessary Touching

The holo vision flickered blue light across the room (Jim had built up the will to turn it on) and onto Spock as he walked out of the twilight, brushing residual dirt off his hands.

He stopped when he saw Jim on the couch, entering the family room, hands tight behind his back, exasperation gently pressed into his almost still face. A face that was beginning to darken across the jaw. "Captain, you should retire."

"We haven't eaten dinner."

"Then I will replicate one."

"I already did," Jim said, gesturing to the the coffee table, where two trays waited, one obviously Spock's, one obviously Jim's.

His first officer stood in the door for a moment, observing the creation. "Thank you," he sounded vaguely pleased, which diffused a minority of the tension that strung them together like vulcan bruise colored yarn.

They ate in semi-uncomfortable silence, neither really watching the HV but neither really looking at each other. Before Jim could protest Spock took his tray and cleaned up both their meals, adding the trays to their growing collection of replicated kitchen ware. When Spock returned, he spoke the first words in over half an hour.

"Now, Captain, you should retire." Jim didn't move from his position staring at the HV.

"I'm not tired." He lied. Really he was too emotionally wound to sleep, even though his body screamed at him to fall unconscious.

"I highly doubt that Captain." Spock stated, standing above him like he was the captain, or his mother, and ordering Jim to bed.

"I'm not tired. I've been sleeping too much lately, I'm not going to sleep my life away." Spock seemed to stand straighter. But instead of attempting another order, he took two steps, turned sharply, and sat on the couch to the right of Jim. The couch was small and sagged in the middle, therefore Spock slid towards him until their thighs brushed together, each light flutter sending a trill through Jim as he tried to remain indifferent and aloof. Spock really shouldn't affect him like this. And there was no hope, after what he had just done.

He was nothing now. How could he be Captain of the Enterprise if all he did was fall apart?

"Since you continue to remain obstinate, I am forced to remain here with you to assure that you do indeed go to sleep." Jim had no problem with that—oddly enough, it was in this set up that he first kissed a girl—but Spock probably wasn't up for kissing, as his jaw and lower face were probably swelling but definitely sore.

"Fine."

Jim flickered through the HV, trying to find something mind numbing to watch. He decided on a show about the flora and fauna of known alien planets and settled in to watch it, trying to ignore the warm figure sitting uncomfortably straight right beside him. It took all his strength not to lift his arm, wrap it around those shoulders, and run his fingers through that black hair as it glittered in the 3D light. To apologize in a soft voice and kiss that jaw .

After an hour Jim's entire body was nearly immobile, and after an hour and a half his eyelids were drooping heavily. He wasn't sure quite when he fell asleep, just that he did.

"Jim," someone murmured, rocking his shoulder. "Jim you should retire." The hand holding his shoulder was so hot and warm he turned towards it, finding a sturdy shoulder and hot torso to lean on. He missed being touched, he missed touching people. He was so lonely, now.

He fell back asleep to a sighing "Goodnight, Jim."

He did not awake so peacefully.

Someone was calling his name. A loud , panicked, piercing call as his world rocked back and forth quite violently. Consciousness slammed into him like a motorcycle and he jerked forward, eyes popping open as his living room and Spock's wide eyed face jumbled together in sharp angles. Someone was screaming at the top of their lungs, a note that seemed to go on forever. When Jim opened his mouth to ask who it was, what had happened, the note stopped.

It was him.

He could tell now. His lungs were almost empty of air, his throat was sore and his neck released its tight contraction. Jim Kirk had been the one screaming.

"Jim, are you alright?" Spock asked, voice at a faster tempo than usual. Jim blinked in the light, because it was dawn and the sun was rising. He swallowed, easing the uncomfortable scratch in his throat, blinking a couple times. "Jim," Spock snapped, shaking him again and jostling his vision.

"Spock, I'm fine." Jim grabbed both of Spock's forearms, preventing him from shaking him anymore. He met those eyes, dark brown swirled with eddies of gold, flecks of black, and threaded with a red? That pigment must be Vulcan. "Really, I'm fine." He restated, in a much softer voice. Spock's tendons shifted under the material of the star fleet shirt, and Jim could feel the heat that radiated off his body. Unconsciously he found himself leaning forward slightly, eyes flickering down to Spock's lips which had a nice M shape, and though the upper lip was rather thin, the lower lip looked like it would fit perfectly between Jim's teeth.

And a dark green-purple bruise stretched its dark tentacles right to the edge of those lips.

"I'm sorry I punched you," Jim nearly whispered, but released his hands from their grip on Spock's arms, letting his fingers trail unnecessarily slowly away. Then ever so carefully, watching Spock the entire time, he reached up, and with the back of his hand brushed from the corner of Spock's lips across the plane of his cheek.

His commander remained perfectly still, he didn't even blink as Jim's hand ran over the growing stubble, relishing the slight scratch on his new skin. He paused at the edge of Spock's face. He could keep going, drop his fingers to Spock's throat, to his hair, grab the back of his neck and pull him forward before he could react, kiss him right then and there, see if that bottom lip really fit so well between his teeth. "Does it hurt?" He murmured.

Spock swiftly released Jim's shoulders and stepped back, whipping back into attention. Jim silently swore, having broken the trance.

"It is unimportant Captain. You were not in a correct state of mind, and the bruise will heal. Now, I have prepared breakfast, if you wish to consume it." Then Spock turned and disappeared around the frame, floors creaking as he approached the kitchen.

Jim took the moment to let his head drop back to the couch and release a quiet groan. He had almost kissed his first officer. He had come within inches. Well, eleven inches, but still. What was he thinking? He may love Spock, but judging by the manner that lean back whipped around the corner, his feelings were not mutual.

Jim climbed to his feet and made his way in front of a steaming plate of pancakes, which he consumed rapidly.

"Jim," Spock tested the air in between spoonfuls of Vulcan oatmeal. "What were you... dreaming about?" Jim kept eating, the sweet, thick taste of pancake in his mouth.

"Honestly, I don't remember." He stated before tipping back more of Bones's prescribed milk. There was a chink of silverware being placed down. Jim looked over his glass to find those eyes peering at him. "What?"

"Truly? You do not remember what caused you to scream?" Jim shrugged and continued with his meal.

"No. It's odd, really. I don't remember anything from the dream, or if I was dreaming at all." Spock looks at him for a few more moments.

"I believe you."

"Good," Jim grunts, "you should." but when he sees that bruise, it just stares at him, proof his passions are overwhelming. Proof that he's not safe, not right now. Maybe never again.

The conversation lulls, until it is Jim's turn to place his fork down.

"Wait, did you stay with me on the couch all night? Sitting straight up?" This time Spock doesn't look up.

"I did Captain." A spoonful of white mush covered in blue berries passes those lips.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No, Captain."

"Well you must be exhausted! You have to go to sleep."

"No Captain. Vulcans require much less sleep than humans. I only need approximately six hours every other day to continue functioning at maximum capacity." He stands and brings his bowl and cup to the scrubber. The next words are out of Jim's mouth faster than his brain can process them and filter them, like it should have.

"Did I fall asleep on your shoulder?" Spock pauses for a second in scrapping his plate before continuing.

"Indeed, Captain." Jim had thought that was a dream. He'd never believed Spock would let him rest his head on his shoulder and clutch his arm while he slept. "You slept peacefully through the night. It was approximately eleven minutes after I left to make breakfast that you screamed. I was alarmed for I believed that you were experiencing another emotional attack. However, I became even more alarmed when you appeared to be unconscious." Spock returned his ware to the cabinets. "As Vulcans and I do not dream, it had slipped my mind that humans do so."

Jim would swear there was a faint green tint to his ears when Spock said that, but when he turned, there was no color in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry to have alarmed you," Jim said, clearing his own place, saying alarmed slightly sarcastically. "I really have no idea what caused it. Trust me, it's weird for me too."

"I do trust you, Jim." Their eyes met for longer than was strictly necessary, and Jim was once again dragged in by the fascinating color variations in those brown eyes. With eyes as blue as his, everything was open to see. But you had to work to see the intricacies of Spock's irises. They were quite beautiful.

Spock had just accepted his apology.

"I trust you too, Spock." Jim murmured, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. He hadn't broken anything between them, except a few blood vessels.

And on that note, they got to work.

**I'm a few minutes late. Sorry! **

**Anyway, bonus points for anyone who can guess what show I borrowed the line " *Character's name*, what were you... Dreaming about?" **

**So who loves Spock? Is there a better friend in the galaxy? I think not. Just think, Jim almost went out to Iowa by himself. Imagine what state of mind he'd be in now without His number one. **

**Hopefully new Chapter up tomorrow! **

**-Natcat**


	12. Chapter 12: Drinking and Driving

Chapter 12: Driving and Drinking

All the easy jobs were done. They had cleaned everything as best they could, organized everything in disarray, thrown everything away that was of no use to anyone now and probably never was. The amount of work left was indescribable. But number one on the priority list was fixing the roof. However, despite the boxes of things in both the basement and the garage, there were not any shingles, nor was there any plywood necessary to repair the roof. That necessitated that they go into town.

But to get into town, they needed a car.

Jim rolled up the garage door for the second time that day. Dust-like dirt billowed across his face and he coughed, waving it away as he ducked into the dark, cool space. It was noon, and the sun seemed to be doing its best to kill him, even in his white cotton undershirt and lightest pair of jeans. (He had never really been a fan of the pajam-pants, worn by the city dwellers.) Spock however, seemed totally fine, even in his black, long sleeve star fleet regulation fatigues. He wasn't even sweating. Damn green-blooded hobgoblin, to quote Bones.

Spock ducked under the door as well, and Jim watched with fascination as the second eyelid slid back as he stepped out of the yellow dust cloud.

"Captain?" He questioned, and Jim smiled to cover his embarrassment for staring too long.

"Ready to get to work?" He said while turning to face the ancient car.

It wasn't beautiful in any way. It was a transition model of car, from fifty or so years ago when they began reworking the infrastructure with superconductor grids. It had wheels, but they folded up into the dull gray chassis when running on the magnetic grid. Everything about the car was dull, flat, and planar. The parts that weren't gray were orange brown with rust, and the windshield had faded to this odd off green color that reminded him faintly of Orion vomit. But it was the only way to get back into town.

"This may take a while. It's in worse shape than I remember." Jim took a slow walk around he car, wiping off spiderwebs as he went.

"As it should be Captain. I still do not see the benefit in retrofitting this vehicle. It is cleaner and more efficient to beam from location to location."

"Maybe, but I'd prefer it if we had some reliable way to get out, you know?" Jim responded, heaving the old blue tool kit from its place on the rotten stairs to its new home beside the car. It hid the gentle flutter of his hands when he held something heavy. He couldn't for the life of him get them to stop shaking. Sometimes it was barely noticeable, but sometimes it was so horrible he couldn't hold onto anything at all. Like this morning, when he was brushing his teeth, it was so bad that the toothbrush dropped seven times into the sink before it was thrown across the small space, slid off the shower curtain, bounced off the wall, and splashed into the toilet. That was another thing they needed to get in town.

Jim unfolded his rolling bench and sat on the edge, watching Spock watching him.

"You should really change your clothes."

"Unnecessary Captain, as I am quite comfortable," Jim rolled his eyes as he rolled back under the car with a pen light, trying to determine how much of the wiring had been eaten by mice.

"But you'll be filthy," Jim argued as he rolled back out to rifle through his tool box, removing a small device he had cobbled together in his youth to eliminate rodents if they infested the car. ironically, it looked a bit like a mouse.

"Negative Captain, I am quite capable of remaining clean," Spock removed another rolling bench, crisply extended it, and proceeded to sit beside Jim.

It was odd, seeing Spock there on Sam's bench. No one had used it since Sam turned eighteen and left as fast as his own two legs could carry him. That's not really true though. Wen Jim was eight Sam had startled to show him how the car worked, and Jim became fascinated with automobiles. It wasn't too long before Jim was showing Sam, four years his senior, things the boy had never thought of. It wasn't long after that when Sam worked with Jim less and less, until he stopped fixing the car all together.

They both lay back and roll under the car, Jim spraying nano foam to eat away the corrosion, Spock examining the wiring with slight prods and twitches, not drastically altering anything.

"Captain, I am unfamiliar with this machine and the principals of its design." Spock finally revealed after a few minutes of prodding. Jim couldn't help but snort, removing his hands from the over zealous computer interface.

"That's because there aren't any Spock. This things a piece of crap." Spock twisted an eyebrow upwards.

"All machines must be designed and planned. Even those created by humans." Jim couldn't help it, he really shouldn't have, but that snarky human comment did him in. He reached forward with his blackest, grimiest finger and starting at Spock's temple, dragged it down, over the cheek bone, down the plane of the face and over the jaw. The entire time Jim was tickled by snippets of emotion. Annoyance. Exasperation. Good Humor. It was odd, because Spock's face remained perfectly blank.

Jim ran out of black as his finger slid over his commanders jaw. However, his index finger continued to travel downwards, slowing and lessening pressure. Jim became fixated by the smooth, almost soft feeling to Spock's neck, rotating slightly so his nail began to drag along the skin as well.

Jesus, what was he doing?

"You're half human Commander," he emphasized Spock's title as Spock was so fond of. "And now you are dirty."

Jim realized how sexual that line was only after he'd flashed Spock a teasing smile and gone back to work. So many things could have gone wrong with that. The most worrisome of which was the fact he'd almost trailed that finger up over Spock's collar and down his first officers chest.

The car was finished by seven o'clock at night. That's how horrible time had been to the already ancient and battered machine.

"Thank God it works," Jim uttered as he slid out of the drivers seat of the now purring machine. While it still looked horrible, it sounded fantastic.

"Illogical, for if there is a deity watching over all of creation, it is unlikely that he she or it in any way aided us in fixing the car." Jim let him finish because arguing only seemed too make Spock more set in his ways.

"Well we did it just in time. Come on, lets go inside and change," not that Spock really needed too. Despite a few speckles of grease on his hands, the only mark on him was the now slightly smudged line of oil Jim had a painted there.

Jim was walking up the newly mended porch steps when it happened. A quick cool slide down the back of his neck, distinctly finger shaped and distinctly grease smelling. Jim paused and turned slowly, to find a perfectly static Spock, hands folded neatly behind his back, giving him a blank look.

"Spock," he started, but had to pause to shake his head, too astonished to continue. "Spock, did you just wipe grease on me?" There was barely a pause.

"Affirmative, Jim." Jim began to chuckle, turning back to the house.

"You are making progress. The revenge was good, but admitting to it is poor form. We'll work on it."

The house just seemed brighter, walking through it after everything they'd done over the past few days. Light actually shone through the windows. The curtains were white and not gray, the floor shone, actually shone, thanks to the cleaning bots efforts. All the broken, rotten things were gone, leaving holes in places, but they could pick up new things when they went into town.

Not tonight though. The one supply store in Riverside (basically the place with the biggest replicator) closed an hour ago. But Spock didn't know that. But the bar was open all night long.

Jim rifled through his chest of drawers, putting his hand on his leather pants for a moment before moving past them and pulling out his favorite pair of dark jeans, a pale gray button-down, and a comfortable blue jacket. It was too hot for his leather jacket, too bad really. And he was a star fleet official now, be probably shouldn't go bar hopping dressed like a teenager. Actually, he probably shouldn't go bar hopping at all.

"I'm going to go change, I'll be right back," Spock nodded but did not look up from his suit case, white hands stark against the entirely black interior. By the time Jim returned, mentally reminding himself to pick up a new toothbrush at a convenience store, Spock had cleaned up and changed. Well, it was hard to tell. He was wearing the same black fatigues he'd been wearing since they'd arrived in Riverside. Not that Jim was complaining, Spock looked fantastic in them, lean and tall, the black perfectly complementing his coloration. Like right now, with the setting sun outlining him in gold, all Jim wanted to do was to rip those clothes right off and not-quite-make-it-to-the-bed. But he didn't.

"Spock, why don't you wear something else? You've been wearing fatigues since we got here. We're no where near Star Fleet, except for their shipyard a county over."

"I do not see your point Captain," his brow wrinkled slightly. "These clothes are the logical choice for our activities since our arrival, and also appropriate for our planned activity this evening." Jim replied absently, kneeling by Spock's suitcase and rifling through the clothes, ruining their perfect folds and crisp edges. He was probably invading Spock's privacy, but it was too late now.

Anyway, there was nothing really to invade. The majority of the clothes were the same black fatigues Spock had been wearing, one blue Active Duty shirt, and his gray dress uniform.

"Spock, you should have brought some non-issued clothes," Jim chuckled, turning to see his first officer looking rather stiff (more so than usual) by the door to their shared bedroom.

"These are all the clothes I own, Jim."

Jim's chest crushed inwards and he took a short breath, trying to cover the sudden, suffocating sorrow that broadsided him with that single, quiet sentence. Spock had nothing at all. Everything he'd ever owned had been swallowed into a black hole. Not just clothes, but servers with family photos, precious heirlooms, baby clothes, that one childhood stuffed animal. Gone, forever. He had no property, no inheritance, nothing but what Star Fleet gave him. This suitcase not only contained all the clothes Spock owned, but everything he owned.

"Oh," Jim started, clearing his throat and keeping his back turned to his number one. "Well, I might have something's that will fit you." Jim pulled open some drawers, pulling out a pair of jeans that had always been too long for him, a narrow white T-shirt, black leather belt (Spock had narrow hips), and a gray jacket. "Here, try these, they should fit. " Spock nodded, accepting the clothes. Jim waited a moment, before remembering 'Vulcan' and retreating to the hall way, letting the door click behind him. He leaned against the door for a moment, before standing straight and shaking his head, retreating down the hall and into the bathroom. He shouldn't be listening for the drop of clothes on the floor. How old was he, twelve?

Instead he stared at himself in the mirror, unbuttoning a few buttons, moving his collar from the inside to the outside to the inside again, and yes, gelling his hair. Jim hadn't gelled his hair since he'd become a Captain. No time really, he had more important things to do than worry about his hair. Jim eyed his guy liner for a moment before tossing it back in the drawer and turning into the hall. He wasn't a teenager anymore.

Perfect timing. Spock was just opening the door, faint frown on his face. Jim had to cover a laugh. Spock looked like he was wearing someone else's clothes. First, he'd tucked all of the t-shirt into the jeans and belted the belt way to tight, lifting the jeans too high, revealing his ankle. He'd buttoned every button on the suit jacket, causing it to be too tight around his chest.

"Jim, these clothes do not fit. I also do not find any logic in 'dressing up' simply to go to a supply store."

"The clothes don't fit because you're not wearing them right," Jim couldn't hold back his chuckle any longer and approached Spock, undoing his belt and whipping it off, having to pause for a moment to stop his hands from their next automatic motion, which was to unzip the pants. Instead he simply tugged them down slightly, revealing a sliver of hipbone. Jim then unbuttoned the jacket and rolled up the sleeves, and as a last second thought, slicked Spock's hair back with the remainder of gel on his hand.

Jim stepped back to admire his handiwork, slightly disappointed. Spock looked fantastic, but he still looked extremely uncomfortable. While the clothes fit him, he didn't fit the clothes. Or the hair really. Jim never thought he'd say a this, but the bowl cut was sexier.

"Jim," Spock started, but the Captain held up his hand.

"I know. Change back into your fatigue shirt. But leave the jeans!" The door closed and in less than fifteen seconds, the real Spock reappeared, (he'd fixed his hair, go figure, though he had kept the pants on) , much happier expression on his face, but not a smile.

It was maybe five minutes into the smooth car ride that Spock spoke again.

"We are not going to the supply shop." It wasn't a question.

"No, we're not," Jim said, fiddling with the radio, trying to find some music and not just hours of advertisements.

"Where are we going?"

"My favorite bar," He finds a satisfying station and returns to the drive. He hadn't driven in a very long time, come to think of it, he hadn't flown in a long time either, not since the shuttle on—

His hand began to rattle, so badly Spock had to notice. God was on his side however because they transitioned onto a metallic grid, and the cars autodrive kicked in, sending them jumping form eighty to two hundred miles an hour, meaning they'd be in town center in about ten minutes. To cover the shaking he moved his hands to his lap and smiled, continuing his story. "The only bar that still likes me."

"I find it difficult to believe that any establishment would dislike you Jim,"

"Oh ha ha, buildings can't like people. You know what I meant." The eyebrow swung upwards.

"I also find it difficult to believe that any human would dislike you in a purely social situation, for your disposition is generally referred to as 'charming' by other humans." Jim winked, and Spock's double laughing out loud for the first time in a while.

"I think that was a compliment. But you didn't know me before Star Fleet. This bar only likes me because it was the first one I used to hit. As you move down the line the dislike tends to increase. There are quite a few bars in the area I'm not allowed into anymore. Like the one where I first met Pike." Jim pauses for a moment, waiting for the crushing, destroying grief. But it doesn't come, just soft sorrow, but also the joy associated with the memory. He was finally starting to heal.

They walk into a packed bar. Music was blaring in the background, loud enough to be felt, but not loud enough to give you a heart attack. People were everywhere, mostly young, and for the first time, a lot seemed younger than him. Well, it was more of a club than a bar.

"So is that you're latest catch over there?" She swung her blond hair in Spock's general direction, to where he was standing stiffly in a corner, refusing the plethora of drinks offered to him by young women and men alike. Some were just intrigued by the fact he was Spock from the U.S.S Enterprise and half-Vulcan. Others had less harmless thoughts in mind, Jim could recognize the signs. "A Vulcan is pretty impressive, even for you Kirk." King poured him another beer.

"No," Jim turns back to the beautiful blond bartender to take a drink. "We're just friends. He's my first officer, Ester."

"Mhmm," she murmurs. "Because you glance longingly across the bar at all your friends every ten seconds. There's a little something there, don't deny it hon."

"More than a little something," Jim grumbles, turning back to the bar and taking another long draft of beer. That red head halfway to feeling Spock up was too hot for comfort.

"What was that? An admission? Jim, I've know you for years, and though I haven't seen you in a few, I know enough about you to say you take what you want, whatever it is. So what's different now? You obviously care for this man, and he's pretty damn handsome if I do say so myself, so what's holding you back?" Jim finishes off his beer and pushes the glass forward. Ester fills it up without prompting and reaches under the counter for another glass.

"I love him," Jim mumbles into his drink, taking another big swig. Ester puts the glass on the bar and gives him a wide eyed, parted mouthed look.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm drunk," Jim says, giving her his best I'm-really-very-handsome-don't-you-think smile.

"No you're not and that's not what you said. But take this and go save Mr. Spock." Jim took the offered beer and winked at her, to which she rolled her eyes. As Jim weaved across the floor he shook his head and set himself into charming mode, which would be necessary to peel this woman off Spock.

"Hi Spock," Jim grinned and walked nearly into the man, pressing their shoulders together, the one that wasn't occupied by a wandering, green fingered hand. "Hello beautiful. I'm sorry, but my friend and I need to go. We're meeting his girlfriend at a diner in town." Orange lips pout but the Orion girl backs off, melting onto the dance floor of swirling, happy bodies.

"Thank you, Jim." Spock nearly sighs as they move to the other side of the bar, away from too-interested parties.

"Don't thank me yet. You're either drinking this, or dancing."

"Captain," Spock actually does sigh, "as I have informed all those who have offered me a drink this evening, I am Vulcan, and Vulcans do not consume alcohol." Jim groans.

"Spock, A, you're half human. B, I'm not everyone else, I'm your friend. And C, I will make you dance if you don't drink." Spock paused and pursed his lips for a moment, eyeing his Captain thoughtfully.

He took the drink.

**I think I'm going to shoot for updating every other day. Every day it too difficult. **

**Now canon is really loose on whether or not Vulcans are affected by or drink alcohol, and there is the alcohol verses chocolate debate, but I read Wikipedia, and they seemed to believe alcohol does affect Vulcans, so that's what I went with. that's more important for the next chapter, not so much this one. **

**I also apologize for Jim's fashion sense. He got it out of a J. Crew catalog. **

**-Natcat**


	13. Chapter 13: There Was A Spark

Chapter 13: There Was a Spark

"You're inebriated, Captain," Spock contracted as he helped Jim up the porch stairs and through the front door. He was really warm under Jim's arm. Warm and firm. His muscles shifted and hardened under his shirt and Jim purposefully put more weight on his commander.

"S'er u," Jim slurred as he slumped on the couch, grinning at the half Vulcan. "You're makin'contractions."

"Not nearly as many as you, Jim." Kirk laughed, loud and hard, clutching his arms with the opposite one. It hid the shaking of his hands, for he wasn't nearly as drunk as he was acting right now. Looking at Spock and observing how he was acting, Jim assumed his commander was more buzzed than he was.

Yet in no way was Jim completely sober.

"C'mere," Jim grabbed Spock's arm and pulled him down beside him on the couch, thighs pressed together just like a few nights ago when Jim slept on his first officers shoulder all night long.

"We should go to bed," Spock spoke with more inflection than was strictly normal, and a plan began to form in Jim's mind, a wild insane plan that no perfectly sober individual would ever construe.

"But I'mn't tired , ar'u?"

"Not really."

"Good," Jim stood suddenly and half walked half stumbled to the kitchen, but once out of sight he did a lot less stumbling and a lot more scheming as the replicator made all the junk food that came to mind. Heaping it in his arms he returned to the living room, where the HV was now on, and the only light in the room. Spock was still sitting straight in the air, but he swayed slightly back and forth. When he looked at Jim, those chocolate eyes, normally very clear, were clouded, and a smaller than average pupil continually shifted in the center of the brown iris.

"I'm glad you encouraged me to drink Jim. I... enjoy this feeling. I'm... happy?The words escape me." Jim lost some of his pretense of being extremely drunk as worry shoved euphoria to the side.

"Spock, exactly how much did you drink?" The man blinked slowly and swayed again, second eyelid sluggishly moving across his iris.

"The glass of beer you provided to me and approximately twenty shots of an unknown alcoholic beverage."

"What?" Jim whipped around. "Twenty shots? How are you conscious? How are you even breathing?" Spock shrugged, but as Jim watched he seemed to suddenly become more sober, like his body was clicking down the high in increments.

"Vulcans process alcohol at a higher metabolic rate than humans."

"Good thing to know," Jim muttered, siting beside Spock. The sudden fear that Spock had been about to pass out from Alcohol poisoning had lessened his already fading buzz.

"Jim, you appear to process alcohol very fast as well. You seemed much more inebriated two, three, a few minutes before." Spock struggled with the exact timing, eyebrows puckering in concentration.

"Something like that," Jim smiled, reaching out his hand to smooth Spock's eyebrows, but realizing halfway there that was a bad idea, and instead reached for the remote control.

They watched the holo vision for a long time in pleasant company, and Jim watched Spock's buzz fade in odd, sudden steps. His opportunity was ticking away, sliding through his fingers.

So Jim put his hand on Spock's thigh. High enough above knee so his intentions couldn't be misconstrued by a human, but not so high that he was forcing himself on Spock.

Spock said nothing, and Jim let it rest there for maybe five minutes, not moving, memorizing the muscle underneath it. But then he began to trail it upwards, ever so slowly. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and his hands were shaking for a different reason than before.

"Jim?" Spock questioned, and Jim lifted his eyes to his first officer, dark eyes eyes wide, lips slightly pursed, head cocked to the side. God, what was he doing? But there was no going back now.

"Spock," Jim started and had to pause to swallow. He was still slightly buzzed, but not enough to think this was a good course of action, but enough to do it anyway. "Spock, I trust you more than anyone else. More than anyone I've ever known." Spock blinked three times in quick succession.

"Thank you, Jim." Kirk took a deep breath. Here we go.

"You're also my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. You're my other half, Spock. I, I couldn't live without you." Jim's eyes dropped as Spock licked his lips. "And humans, sometimes, if they really care about someone, will, uh, express it physically." Spock's mouth opened slightly and his brow puckered.

"I am in a romantic relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, Jim," Jim squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't believe what he was about to do. He was such a selfish bastard.

Oh well.

"The relationship these two people have, it isn't romantic. This sort of relationship tends to exist alongside a romantic relationship." He was a liar. A fucking liar. Jim waited for Spock to call him on his lie, stand up and point at the fading bruise on his jaw and inquire how that meant Jim cared about him. Or worse yet, say nothing and just walk away, leaving their friendship in tatters behind him.

Instead he spoke, voice low in the dark.

"Jim, what are you asking?"

The only light in the room came from the HV, and the the sound was a gentle buzz in the background. Spock's jaw swung forward, sweeping under slightly pursed lips, and those eyes gazed past his charm and his Captaincy and his past and right into his anger, his hatred, his sadness and his joy. Those eyes that pinned his passion to the wall. Those eyes that shone like all the stars in the galaxy.

"Can I kiss you?"

Silence. Jim didn't even breathe, too afraid too move, too afraid too lose. There was no reply for so long Jim was about to get up and run away.

When Spock did answer, it was so soft, Jim nearly missed it. Spock barely breathed the word.

"Yes."

It was like a star had exploded in his skull. His head was light, his lungs were empty, his eyes widened and the room seemed to light up for a moment. He'd said yes. Jim was halfway between pure bliss and utter terror. But fear never stopped Jim Kirk.

Jim shifted his position slightly, orienting himself towards Spock, keeping his hand on his thigh but not touching him anywhere else. He was on extremely thin ground as it was.

He leaned in, stopped and watched Spock, leaned in a little more. He could feel his heart beat in his fingers. Those dark eyes watched him the entire time, facial expression completely blank. Jim was centimeters away now, close enough to feel the push of air as Spock exhaled. Jim took his own deep breath and closed his eyes across the last halting centimeter. Just a few millimeters away he stopped moving so slow and just dove in, pressing their lips together.

At first, Spock's lips were as blank as the rest of his face, though they were softer than they looked. Jim slid his own lips across Spock's, relishing the slick heat as Spock relaxed into the kiss, and then returned it, sweeping his tongue across Jim's lower lip. Jim gently bit down, dragging his teeth from the inside of Spock's lip to the outside before letting it pop free. He didn't let the kiss end though, locking their lips together to see if Spock's lower lip indeed fit perfectly between his.

It did.

After that they pulled away simultaneously, for they had met perfectly between their seated positions. They hadn't touched each other, the only contact other than their lips Jim's hand on Spock's leg.

They stared at each other for a few moments. Jim waited for Spock to turn away, to get up and leave, to punch him in the face. Instead he opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Jim, I... care for you. I do not believe that I could ever function at my highest capacity again without your presence." Jim had to smile a little even as he was internally whooping at the top of his lungs. Spock took a deep breath. "May I ki— " he paused, "May I kiss you, Jim?" Oh my God.

"Fuck," was Jim's hurried reply. He was so hot right now. He needed to be touched. He needed to touch. "Fuck, yes."

Spock was not tentative.

**YAYYYY ! FINALLY RIGHT?**

**But for a pretty crappy reason. Next chapter we shall explore Jim's general crappy feelings about himself for 'manipulating' Spock. **

**My Spock is kinda human compared to a lot of Spock's out there. It's on purpose-I feel like reboot Spock is much more human than TOS Spock was, especially in STID. Jim brings out his humanity- in more ways than one XD. **

**Also, because this is the reboot canon, Spock and Jim are going to have a bit of a dominance war. If this was TOS I'd say Jim was dominant, no question. But reboot Spock is pretty aggressive, if I do say so myself. So, we'll have some fun play there. Which leads me into my next point. **

**I have an important question for you all. This story could go very, very M, not next chapter, or the chapter after that, but relatively soon. I would obviously change the rating. Or I could keep it vague and T. What are your opinions? I would like some feedback before I make the decision. **

**Also, I want to apologize for my sporadic review replies. I'm working on improving this, and with feedback about the rating change ill definitely reply. **

**Thanks!**

**-Natcat**


	14. Chapter 14: Everything Will Burn

Chapter 14: Everything Will Burn

He was a piece of shit.

Jim glared at his reflection in the mirror, which glared back at him, blue eyes narrowed in sagging eyelids, the lines that were already beginning to appear on his face becoming more prominent.

He was such a piece of shit. And he also felt like shit, thanks to last night.

With a heavy sigh Jim sat on the closed toilet and dropped his head into his hands, halfway to pulling out his lengthening hair. He couldn't believe what he'd said last night. What he'd done. Sure he been buzzed, but that was no excuse. He wasn't drunk enough not to know that lying to Spock like that, lying to himself like that was a bad idea.

"The relationship these two people have, it isn't romantic. This sort of relationship tends to exist alongside a romantic relationship." He mocked himself before letting out a groan and sitting up, letting his head bang into the striped wall. Once. Twice. Three times. That was such bull. Such bull shit. I mean he'd used bad lines on women and some men before, but Spock was different. He cared about Spock, yes. He did think Spock was his other half. But he wanted Spock. He wanted more than an extremely intimate friendship or whatever shit he'd concocted last night. He wanted everything. He wanted the good and the bad, the silent, calm moments and the really loud sex. He wanted to be there for Spock, catch the man who caught him, laugh with the man who made him laugh.

He wanted to tell Spock that he loved him.

"I need to start talking out of my mouth," he banged his head against the wall again. "And not," Again, "Out of," again, "My ass."

Spock was in a relationship with Uhura. A romantic, intimate emotional and sexual relationship. That's what Jim wanted. But that's not what they had now. But they weren't friends anymore either. They were in the ghost zone between friends, colleagues, and lovers.

They had only kissed three times. The first two introductory kisses before they had talked for a long time, both of their highs fading as their conversation had grown more stilted, softer, more fatigued. Their words had meandered, their conversation bouncing between light and dark. Jim talked for a few near silent moments about Tarsus IV.

Spock talked about nearly committing suicide.

Jim could barely relive the few short sentences without scrunching his eyes and clenching his fists. "The event transpired after my state of emotional shock was revealed to the bridge. I returned to my quarters, having lost control of all my emotions, the anger and hatred you witnessed, along with sorrow and hopelessness. I locked myself in our shared bathroom, set my phaser to kill, and placed it on my temple. After a few moments of consideration I realized suicide was an illogical action and instead went to find a way to control my grief on the transporter platform where my mother failed to materialize."

That was the third time they kissed. Soft, tender, Jim cupping Spock's cheek, trying to help the man who had helped him so much in the only way he knew how. Because Jim hadn't known what to say, he hadn't known what to do. Because he was a coward.

A coward.

They slept on the couch, leaning on each other. Though when Jim woke up, Spock was gone. He had to have just left, because his spot was still warm. A note was left on the Padd in his place, informing Jim that he had left early to go to the supply store in order for them to "complete projects on the most efficient time table".

In other words, he ran away.

Jim didn't blame him. That had been his plan once he realized what had happened last night. Spock wasn't dumb, but he wasn't really familiar with the broad scope of human social customs, so Jim had no idea whether he thought what Jim had said was bullshit or truthful. Spock was also drunk at the time they ... Interacted, to make matters worse. And probably not hung over, judging by his early departure, pointy eared bastard.

God he hated himself so much right now.

The kissing and talking had been great though, so wonderful. It was just the reason behind it that made him want to run. Jim had deluded himself the entire time that they were in a relationship, pretended that Uhura didn't exist. That the reason he and Spock kissed was because Jim had just admitted his love for the man, not his fake desire to be friends with benefits.

His communicator pinged, and while his brain told him not to check it, his hand was already lifting it to his face. It was a message from Bones.

"Get on your damn video phone," typed neatly across the screen. Jim was not in the mood to talk to Bones, or anyone for that matter, but he hadn't talked to the doctor in a while, and maybe McCoy could bring some normalcy back into his life.

Jim returned to his bedroom, stepping carefully around Spock's mattress before grabbing his Padd and propping it up in his bed. Just as he'd finished that it pinged with and incoming call, the bad picture he'd secretly taken of McCoy appearing.

"Bones!" He started with a loud grin, "it's good to see you." The man grumbled, looking gruffer than usual, obviously he hadn't shaved in a few days.

"Jim, you need to learn to answer your goddamned communicator. I'm surprised you even got the type message I sent you." Jim shrugs, keeping up his smile. He hadn't been avoiding Bones, there had simply been so much work to be done. Or at least that's how he justified it.

"Sorry Bones. It's just that we've had a lot to do. This place was practically falling down around us when we got here."

"I don't doubt it," Bones grunted because he was the only other person Jim had brought back here, and that was years ago and they were practically squatting the few days they laid over. "I'm glad to here you both have something to do." Jim narrowed his eyes at Bones, reclining back on the pillows that had made their way onto his bed.

"Not as much as if I were helping with the recovery efforts." Bones rubs a hand over his face and sighs.

"God damn it, you sure are persistent. Then you must be feeling better,"

"I'm feeling a hundred percent better. I haven't used the cane at all," Bones nods.

"Good, you shouldn't need it at this stage. How are you and Spock getting along? Are you at each others throats yet?" Jim laughs, being careful not to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

"We've actually been getting along very well, surprisingly enough. Barely any fighting." Bones snorts, ignoring a clamor in the background which resulted in the computer lab tent tipping wildly.

"Sure. Because the bruise on his face happened when he fell down the stairs."

Jim opens his mouth to reply snappily, but then closes it again.

How did Bones know about that?

"Bones, I didn't tell you about the bruise on Spock's face." The doctor rolls his shoulders.

"Why do you think I made such an effort to get in touch with you this morning?He hasn't called me yet. Jim, I have been talking to him everyday. I did notice when a dark green splotch appeared on his jaw." Jim started to tap his fingers on his leg, heart beat increasing.

"You've been talking to him everyday."

"Well of course I have been. You won't answer your damned communicator, and how else am I supposed to get updates on your condition? I'm a doctor, not a psychic." Blood was rushing through his head. His vision began to jump. The speed of his fingers increased.

"What exactly have you been talking about?" Bones sighed, overloading the speakers and causing them to crackle.

"What do you think?"

"Me," Jim turned away from the screen, putting both of his feet flat on the floor, digging his hands into the quilt to stop them from fidgeting.

"God damn it man, of course we've been talking about you. Do you think I sent Spock out there because he's emotionally compromised? You couldn't go alone, and I wasn't going to have one of your subordinates or a random nurse who'd sell your soul to the media take care of you." Jim jumped off the bed and began to pace the room, hands tight behind his back.

"You sent Spock out here to take care of me. You made Spock a nurse maid."

"Not a nurse maid. He's your friend. And right now, you only have two friends, and I'm stuck out here. Get back in front of the camera will you?"

"I don't need a god damned baby sitter Bones. I can take care of myself." Bones growled some curses under his breath.

"Jim, without Spock out there, you probably be fucking dead right now. So stop whining and get your ass in front of the camera."

Jim stopped pacing. Stood still for a moment. Stiller than he'd ever been, since waking up from death. He returned to the bed. Pulled the Padd into his lap.

"How much has he been telling you?"

"Jesus Jim, he told me how you practically ordered him not to tell me anything. Way to make it harder on the guy than it already—"

"How much has he been telling you, Leonard?" His voice was dead calm even as his hands began to shake again. Bones let off another speaker crackling sigh.

"Jim, we have orders from the highest of the high, or what's left of them, to get you healthy again. It's not like they don't know."

"He's told you everything. And you've told them everything." He was so calm, he was so still. He'd never burned so hot but felt so cold. Maybe it was the mixture of panic and rage, they neutralized one another, leaving nothing. McCoy paused for a moment, and then relented.

"Yes. Everything. He's told me everything."

Silence.

Silence outside. Silence in his room. Silence in his mind.

Jim dropped the Padd on the bed. Stood.

"Jim, god damn it Jim get your ass back-"

"End call," he intoned as he left the room, and there was the beep as the video call ended. He paused at the top of the stairs, and in a sudden rage ripped his communicator from his pocket and flung it as hard as he could down the stair well, satisfied with the crunch it made when it impacted the wall and then the floor, though the damn thing probably wasn't broken.

He walked down the stairs, turned right and and walked down the hall, slipping his feet into his boots and walking out the door in one smooth motion. It was cooler outside than it had been recently, but that may have had something to do with the rain. The drizzle barely dampened him at first, but it wasn't long before beads of water were rolling down his face and neck. Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, and just began to move.

He wandered about the property, trying desperately to focus on how cold he was, how damp he was, how itchy the grass was on his arms and legs. Not to think about Spock. Not to think about himself.

He was such a fool. James Tiberius Kirk was a fool.

All those miserable nights Spock spent at the hospital were probably on orders. Spock didn't talk to Bones about going with him to Iowa, it was an order. Spock didn't take his hand during the Tornado because he cared, but because it was his duty. Spock didn't move that mattress into Jim's room because of the rain or a subconscious need to be near Jim, but because and Admiral told him to watch Jim at all times. Spock didn't take three punches to the face and then let Jim sleep on his shoulder because he wanted to be a little more than friends, but because in order for Jim to heal emotionally he needed to 'release pent up aggression' and 'interact with other humanoids'.

Even the kisses.

Jim can practically hear the thoughts that went through Spock's head at the time. "The Captain is making unwanted sexual advances on me, against StarFleet code 307 paragraph 4 subsection 1. Override by Admiralties direct standing orders to 'get that damn kid better, what ever the price'. The Captain is a human, humans require intimate touch to maintain the correct balance of hormones, which relates to the psychological stability. The captain requires more interaction than most. Conclusion, allow sexual encounter to persist."

Jesus Christ, what if he had admitted his love to Spock? What would he have done? Continued to follow orders until the bitter end, playing along with Jim's advances, fearing that he was either going to disobey the admiralty, break Uhura's heart, or break Jim?

Jim turned his face upwards, staring into the monotonous gray, watching the low clouds swirl and buckle with some unfelt wind. The drizzle was picking up a bit now, and he was soaked to the bone. Not that he really cared at this point.

He stopped walking when a bit of glass crunched under his boot.

He was back at the remains of the barn. On a different angle this time, twisting the steel and wood into new shapes. Oddly, there was one piece of flat metal Jim didn't remember from before, sticking straight out of the ground.

In front of it, while starting to match the rest of the mud, the dirt looked fresher, overturned.

It was the grave.

It could have been minutes or hours that Jim stood there and watched. He didn't really think much, or move much, just watched. It was just a cat, now. Jim realized that. But he still wouldn't be able to do what was necessary and put the creature out of its misery. Spock was Vulcan. Spock would never have trouble doing what needed to be done. Though Jim would have been able to do it too, before he died.

He had died.

He was the only person to have ever technically died, and come back to life. He didn't want to believe them, he wanted to believe he'd gone into a very, very deep coma, a nearly undetectable one. But it wasn't true.

And there was nothing.

The car splashed up the road, Spock was driving it too slow to be reasonable, but he had never had experience in a convertible vehicle before. Wood and other things hung out the trunk. The blue tarp meant to cover them flapping in the breeze. Jim watched it slow even further and pull into the driveway, and then disappear into the garage.

Jim began to move, the rain really coming down now, nearly shielding the house in a gray curtain.

The screen door banged against the side of the house as Jim walked into the kitchen, a wash of rain and a gust of wind following him onto the white tile floor.

Spock looked up from where he was sitting at the table, two communicators lined up neatly before him, one spotless, one scratched and cracked in the corner.

"Hello Captain," there was a slight pause and those brown eyes softened, but for once Jim barely felt it. "I feared you would not return."

"Well, here I am."

They stared at each other in silence. Jim didn't move to sit, Spock didn't move to stand. The only sound was Jim's dripping on the floor, the ticking of the replicator, and the rain on the still broken roof.

"I talked to Bones today," Jim starts, and they still stare at one another, neither backing down.

"You did."

"Yes," Jim moves into the room, looking around the kitchen like he'd never seen it before, hand on the green counter. "He told me that you've been talking to him, everyday. Is that true?"

"It is Captain." Jim turns his burning eyes on Spock, trying to show him, trying to force him to feel what he's feeling, like he's being eaten alive from the inside out, trapped like a mouse in a maze with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide even as he breaks and tries to put himself back together and breaks some more.

"You promised me that you wouldn't tell him when I had panic attacks." Silence. "You promised me, as a friend. As my best friend." Slight pause as Spock tries to work out what to say.

"Jim, he is your doctor. It was in your best interest-"

"Fuck my best interest!" Jim shouted, knocking the bag on the counter to the floor with a crash as he whipped on Spock. "Fuck my 'fragile health', fuck my 'emotional instability'. I asked you not to, Spock! I trusted you! I trusted you with my weakest moments, with my lowest lows. And you betrayed me. Why did you do it Spock? Why?" The words spit mean and cruel from his mouth, but he doesn't care, even as Spock leans back and locks off, even as Jim watches Spock's emotions drain away, he doesn't stop. He can't. He doesn't want to.

"I was following my standing ord—"

"Orders," Jim completes, a mean laugh lashing from his mouth. "Orders! What a surprise there, Mr. Spock, following orders. Playing the Admiralties bitch because its fucking logical. How far did they bend you over their desks, hmm? How hard did they have to fuck you to get you to betray me, your only god damned friend—" Spock stood abruptly, screeching back his chair.

"That's enough Jim—"

"—oh so what if I lose it? So what if I get angry? They already know how batshit crazy I am, thanks to you. So what if I scream a little, break my communicator? It doesn't matter—"

"Jim, please—"

"—nothing fucking matters. Do you care at all? Do you feel anything, for anyone?" Spock's lip twitched downwards. Jim could feel the blood rushing through his skull, through his arms. He felt high, in charge, powerful for the first time since he was reborn. "I didn't think so," Jim scoffed. "After this you're just going to go call them up and bend right back over, informing them of how Kirk just broke again, and no, he's not going to be ready for another few weeks. I bet you already told them about what happened last night, listed all the little details in that damn monotone—"

"I have told no one of our encounter—"

"—I opened myself up to you because I trusted you, because there was no one I was closer to in the entire galaxy, and you betrayed that, you betrayed me, just like everyone else ever has! " Jim swung his arm at nothing in particular, but Spock caught it, in a grip so strong Jim's bones groaned.

"Jim. I do care about you. I apologize for your feeling of betrayal, however—" Jim tried to tear his arm away, but Spock was too strong. Jim then threw a sloppy swing at him, which resulted in Spock grabbing his other arm. "Jim you must listen. Captain, Jim," Kirk still struggled, throwing a knee into the mix, which Spock easily dodged, shifting his grip from Jim's arms to his hair and his neck, where he could easily be dropped by a nerve pinch.

Jim stopped fighting and stared at Spock, letting the wall he'd built fall, letting all his pain wash into his eyes. He was too tired to keep the fear, the sorrow, the rage. He was so tired. And there was nothing.

"Jim," Spock murmured, loosening his grip to a less bone crushing state. There was a faint wash of Spock's lukewarm mind at the edge of his. "Oh, Jim."

Then, they melded.

Hey! Sorry to lay the angst on so hard after such a good time, but conflict drives a story right? I'm actually really proud of this chapter, I like how the dialog turned out.

Its official, this story is going M next chapter, thanks to every one who voted in reviews. I have some ideas for a very hot time between our two favorite star fleet officers :)

-Natcat


	15. Chapter 15: Ashes, Ashes

Chapter 15: Ashes, Ashes

This meld was not like the meld from before—in fact, it was closer to the first mind meld he'd ever experienced, with Spock Prime. It lacked some of the violence, and this time there was no sense of undertow, that Jim was going to be swept away.

But it was not bubble bath in warm water either.

Intention, emotions, even some coherent thoughts cascaded over Jim, sounds he'd never heard pooling into his ears, smells he'd never smelled flooding his nose, tastes he'd never tasted pouring over his tongue.

The crunch of Khan's jaw as he smashed into it with a chunk of steel. The smell of garbage, of rot and hot metal. The iron tang of Kahn's blood as some sprayed across his face, into his mouth.

Jim could feel Spock fighting the memory, trying to force other thoughts forward, but it was too strong. The instability of the thought that was not his just made it seem all the more violent.

There was pain. Horrible, horrible pain. Not from physical injuries, that was just a dull throb in the background. But it wasn't the suffocating, drowning sorrow Jim had experienced when melding with Spock Prime, either. It was a feeling like each and every organ was being slowly torn apart, right down the center, setting every nerve ending on fire. Like he was burning from the inside out. Only two almost coherent thoughts made it through the inferno.

_Avenge Jim. _

_There is no point to living without him. _

Spock gave up trying to fight the memory and released the meld. Jim's knees gave way and he had to grab onto the counter to remain standing. The sudden lack of such intense feeling left him nauseated. His own thoughts seemed thin and gray compared to the burning brilliance he had experienced moments before. It was like he was wearing a cotton jumpsuit, gloves and all, and everything was muffled.

"What," Jim's voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying again. "What was that?"

"I apologize Captain, but it was necessary for you to experience the full intensity of the memory." Spock was standing rock still, hands clamped tightly behind his straight back.

"Well it sure was intense, that's for sure," Jim squinted his eyes and shook his head, as if that would bring some intensity back into his mind. Feeling marginally better, Jim met his first officers eyes. "Did you really feel all that... For me?" Spock nodded sharply, dark brown eyes piercing into his soul.

"Wow," Jim muttered, taking a few stumbling steps to collapse into the available chair. "Wow."

"That is the second most intense feeling I have ever felt Captain, the one you just experienced." Spock had altered his position so he was facing him, but his stance remained as if he was standing before the admiralty.

"Was the first when Nero destroyed your planet?" Jim rubbed the heel of his hand into his temple, trying to get feeling back into his numb brain. Oddly, Spock stiffened, face hardening.

"No, Captain."

"Well, what was it then?" Jim squeezed his eyes shut—the light was too dim. There was a long, long pause.

"Watching you die."

Silence.

Jim raised his head up, staring at his first officer, who hadn't stopped watching him this entire time.

"I don't get it. Then why did you betray me to the admiralty? Why show them how weak I am? How like a child?" Spock took a step forward, releasing his hands.

"Jim, I was not betraying you. What you are experiencing, it is perfectly normal for a human to go through emotional trauma after and extremely traumatic event. It is expected. Everyone who I have 'betrayed' you to, they already knew you were experiencing PTSD from brain scans taken while you were still in a coma state at the hospital."

"The admiralty already knew I was insane?" Jim groaned between his hands cupping his face.

"Not insane Jim, but injured, yes. My telling Doctor McCoy, it was not malicious, quite the opposite. It was out a desire for your continued recovery, as I have stated many a time."

"It's different for me though Spock! Sure other people get PTD's or whatever, but I'm not everyone–I'm Captain of the USS Enterprise. I'm responsible for four hundred, well three hundred now, lives. For protecting the federation from harm—and I failed Spock. I failed. And instead of trying to fix it, I'm sitting here staring at you breaking down like a teenaged girl over a break up. I mean look at me! Screaming at you, my closest friend over 'betraying' me to my best friend, my doctor for Christ's sake. For trying to fucking help me." Jim reached up and wiped at his face, hand coming away glistening. "And now I'm crying. Jesus Christ, what's wrong with me? Jesus Christ." Jim dropped his head into his hands. There was a faint shifting and a strong hand took his shoulder.

"Jim," Jim lifted his face out of his hands, there was no hiding his red eyes now. He was so out of control. He thought he was getting better. He thought he'd get over this in a few days and be back to normal. It had been almost two weeks, and he could barely function.

Spock met his eyes, and then they dropped. The crouching man extended his neck, pausing for a moment, before closing the distance between them, pressing their lips together.

Jim blindly reached out, grabbing at Spock's shoulders, twisting his mouth into the kiss, eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the tears rolling down his face. Spock's hand remained on his shoulder, but the other brushed gently down his face, across the stubble beginning to grow there.

Jim could feel Spock's presence, lapping at the edge of his mind, until suddenly he was submerged in warm water, comforting thoughts and feelings, surrounded by such warmth.

And something just clicked.

Jim let go of his rage, his fear, his anger. They were still there, but he no longer clutched them. That was in the past. He couldn't change the past, only the future.

_You can change the future, Jim. Make it better than it was ever supposed to be._

Spock's thought, laced with trust, belief, such care , dripped into his mind, and Jim responded with thanks the best way he could. The meld ended, and Spock pulled his fingers away the same time his lips slipped free.

They stared at each other a few moments, not saying anything. Jim was okay with that, he was... Content.

"Now do you understand why, Captain?" Spock said, still not moving. Jim nodded.

"I do." He paused for a second, inhaling deeply. "I also understand what you meant last night. About caring. I felt it." Spock nodded sharply, but did not speak or meet Jim's eyes. "I want you to know I feel the same way, Spock, in my meager human way, I care as much as I possibly can." Spock's lips twitched slightly upward.

"Thank you, Jim. And I told no one of our encounter last night, nor do I plan to. We were both inebriated and therefore not functioning at highest capacity." Jim nodded, feeling well enough to stand again. A ping of sadness pierced his heart. Spock didn't want to talk about what had happened last night. He didn't even want to acknowledge it as legitimate. Not that is was, mind you. But the sadness just seemed to slip away, not sticking.

"I don't plan on telling anyone either," Jim laughed it off, "And I'm soaked and freezing, so I'm going to go take a shower."

"I will prepare brunch for us when you return." Spock got up off the floor and Jim smiled at his commander before climbing out of the chair and then the stairs before locking himself in the bathroom. The rain pelted down outside, Earth Terraforming Group must be trying again.

Jim left the small window open, letting the faded pink curtains flutter with the mist, relishing the short puffs of cool air in the hot steam as he turned on the water, leaving his soaked boots by the door, tossing his grass covered pants and soaked shirt into the laundry, which was already starting to pile up.

The water was wonderful on his back and he sighed, rolling his shoulders. Sleeping upright wasn't really his favorite position. He closed his eyes, letting the hot water roll across his face, scrubbing his hair and grabbing the soap.

He probably should be more upset about everything that had happened, but he was tired of being angry and sad—for now, at least he was content.

He would be even more content if Spock was in the shower with him. Slick hands rubbing down his slick shoulders, digging into his back, pressing their bodies together as their lips clashed, letting his mouth wander, putting a hickey on Spock's neck just to prove he'd been there. Spock trailing his hands from his back down his sides as the half Vulcan got to his knees and opened—

Jim looked down and swore. Not the best line of thought. He wavered on how to deal with his erection for a moment before just deciding to deal with it, praying the noise of the shower would cover his progressively louder breathing and his final orgasm. His partners had always told him he was loud.

Feeling surprisingly better, Jim stepped from behind the curtain, wrapped himself in a towel, and padded down the cold hall to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him before dropping his towel and rifling through his drawers for something to wear.

He was walking over to his closet, unhappy with his chest of drawers when he saw it. Spock's science blues, sitting at the top of his suit case. Jim had no idea what possessed him but he reached down and picked them up, holding the shirt up in the dim gray light.

He put it on.

It smelled like Spock. That was the first thing he noticed, other than it was slightly too large for him, which made him feel even odder. Jim turned and saw himself in the mirror, naked from the waist down, wearing his first officer's shirt, hair still wet from the shower, eyes still bright from his orgasm.

Good thing he wasn't twenty anymore, or he would have had another erection to deal with. Women had worn his clothes before, and it had always turned him on, made him feel powerful, in charge. He'd never worn another guys clothes, at least not like this. He felt owned. Possessed. It was weird. Different. A turn on.

He should probably take this off—

The door opened behind him and Jim turned, it was just a natural reaction. He was caught anyway, no matter what.

Spock stood in the doorway, hand on the knob, words dying on his lips. At first, he seemed completely and utterly surprised. But that surprise changed as Jim watched, into an expression he was quite familiar with. Blown pupils. More aggressive stance. Slight parting of the lips. Hunger. It wasn't the 'Do Me' expression he'd been waiting for.

Instead it was, 'I'll do you'.

Then the Vulcan in Spock took over and he shut down, face blanking out. He turned on his heel and walked down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door.

"I'd better go get him," Jim murmured, before looking down at himself. "Well, I'd better change first."

**Hello my friends! **

**So Jim doesn't know it, but Spock did something really, really bad this chapter. now you know. I won't tell you exactly what, but you can figure it out with information given to you. **

**Yay first M chapter- though next chapter is much more M. **

**-Natcat**


	16. Chapter 16: We All Go Down

Chapter 16: We All Go Down

It hadn't stopped raining when Jim stepped onto the porch. In fact, it was raining so heavily the world was fogged in gray, mist billowing up the steps and around the static figure gazing stoically into the distance. The chill was a relief to the hot, muggy air that had hugged the landscape since the tornado had passed through.

"Spock," Jim started, unsure of what to say, there seemed to be nothing he could do to play off what Spock had just seen. God, he was embarrassed, but hiding wouldn't fix anything. Besides, talking fixed things, as they'd discovered this morning.

"Captain," Spock replied, not moving at all. Jim groaned, stepping up to his side.

"Spock, judging by what just happened, I'd say we're pretty far past you calling me Captain." The body beside him stiffened, Jim winced. Bad move, time to back pedal.

"Joke, Spock, that was a joke." The shoulders lowered slightly beside him, but no words were forthcoming. Jim was going to have to do the talking. Again. No time for thinking about his words carefully, no time for planning.

"Spock, are you attracted to me? Sexually, I mean." Jim waited through the long pause by mentally beating himself. He was never going to be good as a diplomat.

"I... I was not, Captain." Well damn it, Jim was screwed. Plain and simple. Might as well rip his badge off his chest and kick him out of Star Fleet right now for assaulting his first officer. "Now, now I am... Unsure. Jim," Kirk turned to face his number one with those words. Spock looked so lost, his face so human at that moment. "I am at war with myself. I am Vulcan," those eyes returned to the horizon, reflecting the endless rain. "Yet I am human. There are so few Vulcans left, Jim. Logically, I should embrace the race that has the best chance of survival—but with a human perspective, I should fight with the rest of the Vulcan species even if it is illogical, because, in a way, we are all family. And then there is you." Jim's eyes moved up from Spock's lips to focus on his eyes, swirled with so many burning colors. "You make me feel, Jim. You have caused me to experience emotions more intensely than any other individual ever has. Sorrow. Anger. Fear. Rage. Joy."

"Even lieutenant Uhura," Jim postulated, because he knew this was too good to be true.

"Even Lieutenant Uhura," his voice was low, soft like the rain. Spock wanted more of Jim. More than his friendship, more than his body. Something... More. He was saying they already had it. "It is illogical. I care deeply for Lieutenant Uhura, I do not wish to hurt her." Jim was losing him, he could feel Spock slipping away, falling behind his Vulcan mask, talking himself out of what ever he was going to do. He was despicably good at that.

So Jim grabbed his hand, tightly, turning the palm up and raising it between them.

"We are alone here, Spock. No people, no cameras, no nothing." Jim took Spock's hand and extended it out into the rain, letting a few drops pool onto his hand before returning it to the space between them. Spock's eyebrow was already raised. "Please, just for once, let's not do what we should. Let's do what we want." Jim brought Spock's hand to his lips, watching the man the entire time, before he quickly tipped the hand and pressed his entire mouth and tongue to the hand, licking up the water right across the hand, letting the palm catch his lower lip as he pulled away.

Maybe Vulcans didn't kiss with their hands, but damn, they had to be pretty sensitive, because Spock inhaled sharply when Jim pressed his tongue to the skin. Jim didn't wait for Spock to freeze up again. He pressed a kiss to the soft underside of Spock's wrist, quickly working his way up Spock's arm and to his neck.

"I want you, Spock." He murmured into the skin as he pressed his mouth to the hot skin. "I've wanted you for a very long time." That seemed to push something over the edge in Spock, because the man wrapped his arms around Jim and dug them into his hair, grabbing Jim's mouth with his own, sliding his tongue along Jim's.

"Mhmm," Jim groaned, grabbing Spock's neck and walking him backwards, slamming the screen door inwards and scratching the wall, but Jim didn't care. Spock's hands were all over him, running down over his back and back up again, along his sides, over his shoulders, digging into his shirt, into his hair.

Jim pushed his commander's back into the wall with a thunk, a lamp wobbling nearby. Spock grunted into his mouth, nipping at Jim's lower lip, pushing their lips together again, over and over.

Jim's breath was coming fast and hot. This was nothing like their other kisses, those were things that may have passed between two very close friends.

Not so much this one.

Jim grabbed Spock's leg, pulling up over his hip, pushing their hips closer together, and Jim rutted into Spock, gently compared to how their kiss was going.

Spock then grabbed Jim's ass, and in a whirl, Jim was slammed into the wall, his breath knocked out of him, grunting as Spock kissed along his jaw and began working on his neck. The lamp crashed to the ground, but they'd worry about that later. A part of Jim was disgruntled that Spock was playing out Jim's fantasy, but backwards, but most of him was in his moan and Spock sucked a particularly sensitive spot.

Jim hiked his own leg over Spock's thigh, pulling Spock hard into Jim, rubbing them together, which got a slight start out of Spock, who stopped a moment in his kissing Jim's neck. Jim took the opportunity to grabs Spock's ass and flip them back around, taking a short pleasure in Spock's mussed hair. Jim began to roll deeply into Spock, letting his own head drop back as the friction sparked his nerves, letting out a low moan.

Spock, it seemed, wasn't going to be vocal, but he was Vulcan after all. The man was breathing quickly, short sharp pants each time Jim pushed their groins together. But Jim sure didn't want to cum in his pants.

"Upstairs?" He grunted, and Spock nodded in response.

He then proceeded to grab Jim and lift him like he was some thin girl wrapped around his waist, not a man pushing one hundred and eighty. But surprise didn't keep Jim from kissing him.

Spock carried Jim all the way up the stairs, kicking down the door to their bedroom with his foot. Jim bounced slightly on the bed when he was thrown down, pulling Spock forward and on top of him, scraping his teeth down that pale jaw that had tempted him for so long. God, this was like every fantasy he'd had, but better, because it was actually happening. There was a weight on top of him, heavy hot and breathing, and it wasn't just some girl, it was Spock, a man he would die for. A man he did die for.

The man he loved.

Even if he didn't know.

Jim flipped them over again, holding Spock's hips between his knees as he threw off his shirt, pulling Spock's off as well, trailing kisses up Spock's chest as he went. Jesus, they were actually going to do this. They were actually going to do this.

Spock ran his nails down Jim's spine, and Jim played into it, arching his back and moaning, not keeping any feeling in, expressing his heat in the most visceral way possible. Like his need to kiss Spock again.

He pressed his first officer into the sheets, curling his tongue and flicking it along the underside of Spock's. God he looked so hot right now, shirt gone, white sheets wrinkled around him, mussed hair pressed into the pillow, pupils dilated, mouth open, lips panting and wet with Jim's kisses.

Jim reached down and fiddled for Spock's zipper, grabbing it and dragging it, sliding down Spock's body ready to—

A hand gripped Jim's hand, Jim looked at Spock.

"No," Jim pulled himself back up Spock's body.

"What? Spock—no ones going to know,"

"No, Jim."

"Oh, come on," Jim reached for Spock's pants again, he was so close, but the half Vulcan rolled away and stood, zipping up his pants. "I'm sorry Spock, I am, we can just kiss if you want–no, where are you going?" Spock put his shirt back on in a hurry, swift fingers rearranging his hair

"This is wrong, Captain. I have no right to take advantage of you like this, as you are in a fragile state of mind." Jim sat up, legs still spread wide on the bed.

"Take advantage of me? Spock, if anything it's the other way around, you're the one who wanted to stop."

"I am unclean. I am going to take a shower." Spock turned on his heel and left the room.

"No, Spock, wait!" The bathroom door clicked closed down the hall. "You can't leave me like this." Jim groaned and flopped back on the bed, libido dying away. Take advantage of him? He was Jim Kirk—and he'd had a whole lot of sex. Very few people had ever taken advantage of him. Definitely not his half Vulcan commander. Why on Earth would Spock even think that?

Jim groaned, pressing his head back into the pillow, covering his eyes with his arm.

"I need a drink." He muttered.

**Sorry for the really late update! I've been busy these past few days, and had a little bit of trouble writing some of the sexier bits. But trust me, I got over it. You also don't have much longer to wait for the really sexy bits. I'm a few chapters ahead in writing, so I'm sure :)**

**Also, a lot of people think that Spock bonded with Kirk. I'm here to tell everybody that yes, it involves the brain and the mind meld, but no, they didn't bond. You'll find out more next chapter-but it has to do with Spock's guilt here. **

**I'll try and be more efficient updating. **

**-Natcat **


	17. Chapter 17: It's Hot in Here

Chapter 17: It's Hot in Here

The rest of their evening was awkward, to say the least. They did speak, but it was stilted, halting. Almost as if they had jumped to right after Narada, when they could speak pleasantly to one another, but just barely.

At one point Spock said something, Jim doesn't even remember what, but in such a cold, blank way—a way he hadn't used in years when talking to Jim—that the Captain of the USS Enterprise crushed the glass of scotch he was holding, sending glass and the liquid across the floor, his shoes, and into his hand.

They didn't even talk as Spock pulled fragments of glass from his hand with replicated tweezers. Jim refused pain killer in preference to drinking the scotch right out of the bottle he'd illegally replicated not and hour before. God he was turning into his mother.

Now, he was lying on his bed, staring at the slowly rotating ceiling fan, listening to the rain gently tap at the screen in his windows. He was pretty drunk, more drunk than the night, last night actually, that he and Spock had kissed for the first time. Jesus Christ it felt like weeks ago, because Jim was not only back to square one in his more-than-friends relationship with his first officer, but in their friendship as well.

There was a faint rustle of sheets and Jim let his eyes slide over to Spock's dark figure, now lying on its side and facing away from him. Even in the near perfect darkness he could make that much out. At least Spock hadn't wanted to sleep down stairs on the couch. But there were pros and cons. Now Jim couldn't drink himself to oblivion in peace.

Maybe this house was bringing out bad habits. But you never really kick them, do you? He could go down stairs right now, Spock probably wouldn't stop him, and dust off one of those habits. He could sleep on the couch.

Jim let his head roll back to the ceiling. He wasn't a child anymore. He could get through this. This wasn't the first time he'd been rejected halfway–even if it was Spock, one of the few people he actually cared about in the galaxy.

The only one left he loved.

Jim closed his eyes, rolling away from Spock, facing the opposite way, curling himself the opposite way. After all the bastard had betrayed... betrayed...

The thought slipped away from him, and Jim forgot. Instead he awaited the images. It had been happening ever since he'd come off drugged sleep. The barrage of horrible pictures that assaulted him at his weakest moment, tearing through his conscious mind like starved beasts, clenching his fists, accelerating his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut. They had yet to bring on an attack , but it was only a matter of time.

And they came. Kahn squeezing Marcus's head until it exploded, the look in Pike's eyes as he died, the burning, the horrible pain, everything going white as he went blind, staring at Spock's hand centimeters away, his collapsing lungs choking his last words.

But the panic didn't come, the sickening terror that made him sit straight up in bed. The memories were his, but it was like he'd seen the events on HV, not like they had happened to him. All the emotions associated with them, they were dulled, detached.

That set off warning bells in Jim's head that something wasn't right, but just as the thought came to mind, it scattered, disappearing, and Jim forgot that anything was ever amiss. For the first time since he died, Jim drifted into sleep, relatively content.

Something snapped. A bone, he thinks. Pain. Burning. Terror. Such sheer terror his senses went onto overload and he could actually taste it. It smelled like something was burning. No, someone was burning.

"Jim!" Someone screamed, and there was a sharp sting on his cheek that was so much different than the phantom pain it slapped him into consciousness. His eyes flew open and he sucked in a huge breath of air, by God he was half way to asphyxiating himself.

"Thank God." if Jim hadn't been busy trying to return oxygen to his lungs then he would have given Spock a look for saying something half as shocking as that. Jim unclenched his fists from his sheets, surprised at how they ached. How tight was he gripping the fabric?

"What the hell happened?" Jim choked out, coughing out the rasp in his voice.

"You began thrashing in your sleep approximately ten minutes ago, and my attempts to rouse you failed. You did not begin to scream until one minute, forty-three seconds ago. Had you reached the two minute mark, I was going to call Doctor McCoy for fear you would asphyxiate."

"Wait, I screamed for nearly two minutes?" Jim rubbed his forehead. "Jesus Christ."

"Nearing the time you awoke, it was less of a scream and more of an exhale." Jim snorted. It was rather ridiculous. In a disturbing sort of way.

"Jim, this is not a laughing matter."

"No, but it is rather ridiculous." Jim actually watched as Spock took in, processed, and disregarded Jim's comment as irrelevant, as it all appeared on his face, painted there like a picture. Jim was getting good at reading his first officer, or Spock was very tired. It had to be choice number two, because Spock had shut himself off from Jim this afternoon.

The man leaned forward slightly, and only now did Jim realize that the man was completely on his bed, wearing only boxer briefs and a StarFleet issued undershirt—and Jim was only wearing the boxer briefs.

He had to try again. He needed Spock, and if he was rejected again, well, then he would stop.

"Do you remember anything?" Jim paused to process the question, about to answer no, but then the faintest snippets flitted across his consciousness, disappearing almost as fast as they came.

"Fire, smoke, something is burning," Jim paused and then it hit him. "Oh God, someone is burning."

"Radiation burns such as the ones you suffered in the reactor?" Spock intoned, voice as flat as it had been all day, the panic and urgency draining away. Damn it, no. Jim would not let him submerge again.

"No," Jim shook his head and squeezed his temples with his right hand. "It was a fire, and I could smell someone burning. And, and... Gah that's all I remember." Spock placed a hand on his shoulder. Jim looked up under his lashes, pinprick pupils boring into Spock's glossy dark eyes.

"This is progress, for before you remembered nothing." Jim nodded, but he wasn't really sure. He preferred it when he remembered nothing.

They didn't speak for a few moments, and Spock tensed to pull away, but Jim wrapped his hand over his friend's. "Jim," Spock sounded faintly exasperated, breaking eye contact. But it wasn't exasperation. Desperation?

"Please," Jim murmured, putting on his best begging eyes-the sexy kind. But he knew his own desperation bled through. He couldn't lose, not when he was so close. He needed Spock, in more ways than even he could comprehend. He loved him.

Spock wavered, just for a second, his face softened, before the walls shot back up.

"You need sleep Captain." Spock dropped his hand from Jim's shoulder, Jim's fingers trailing uselessly after them.

"No," Jim said to the pulling away and to Spock's suggestion. "I don't."

Jim rolled up onto his haunches, planted his elbow on the comforter, reached forward, and captured Spock's lips with his. His first officer didn't pull away, or push Jim away. He kissed back, shoulders dropping into the kiss. Spock's mouth was warm, soft, and his tongue on Jim's lower lip was wet. Jim broke the kiss for a second to pull himself closer, getting up onto his knees, grabbing Spock's face and staring into those dark eyes for a moment before dipping down again.

There was nothing sweet about this kiss, Jim was tired of taking it slow and gentle. Besides, every time Spock touched his face, Jim got a whisper of his feelings. And it was easy enough to see Spock wanted it almost as badly as he did. And his tight briefs didn't hide much either.

Jim ripped into his number one, not slowing up and barely pausing to breathe between lip locks. He held the half vulcan's face tight between his hands, allowing only for minimal movement as he went in again and again and again, nipping Spock's lip and biting into his jaw. Jim moved forward even further, locking the mans thighs between his knees as he moved one hand from Spock's face to fist tightly in his hair, the other holding his shoulder, noting the nice muscle underneath. Jim then went to work on Spock's neck, kissing and licking and biting down, once hard enough to draw a quick inhale from Spock, who was largely unresponsive beneath him.

Come to think of it, the man had barely been responding to any of Jim.

"Spock, this isn't going to work if you don't feel it." Jim sits back on his heels, bed creaking beneath him. To Jim's increasing dismay, Spock had his Vulcan face on. Jim sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. He had been pretty rough, rougher than he'd ever been with a woman, but Spock could take it. So why did he feel so guilty? "You have to give me something." Spock blinked at him owlishly.

"Jim, you know I am..." Spock looked away, "Uncomfortable in many human social situations. This situation is the... most difficult for me to function correctly in." Jim scooted forward to sit beside Spock, swinging his legs off the side of the bed like his first officer. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Spock, its the most difficult for most of us, but also one of the most fun. Well, I think it is the most fun, but some people may disagree with me." Spock turned to face him, for the first time seeming uncomfortable with his body, out of control, if not in the way Jim wanted him to be out of control.

"How..."

{*WARNING: basically porn from here down. Don't read if you don't like*}

"Let go," Jim said, climbing back onto his bed, lying prone on the mattress, spreading his legs and arms. "I'll even sub if you want, if that's easier for you." Jim had never subbed in his life, and had never planned to, but if it made Spock more comfortable, then he'd make some sacrifices.

Spock looked down and took a deep breath. When he turned and opened his eyes, it was a different Spock.

His pupils were blown and his eyes narrowed, chin jutted out and neck taught, shoulders rolled aggressively forward, mouth open in the faintest snarl. He turned and moved onto the bed, more lithe than Jim had ever seen the slightly awkward commander.

Fuck.

Jim's dick twitched and he bit his lip. It was way to early for him to be falling to pieces. But God he'd wanted this so bad, and it was finally happening. It was finally fucking happening.

Spock pulled Jim's boxers off his legs, leaving him naked and spread eagled on the bed, while he remained fully clothed. That turned Jim on even more, and his dick bobbed to life.

Spock moved over the top of him, sinking one hand into Jim's hair and bracing himself with the other. Then he proceeded to kiss Jim just as harshly as Jim had kissed him before, tongue and teeth and slick sliding and a sizable hickey on Jim's neck. Every once and a while Spock's clothes would brush Jim's dick, and he would groan and thrust upward, trying to get anything to satiate his growing arousal. Spock, in keeping with his letting go, would sometimes inhale or exhale in a different pattern than usual.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

"Spock, take, your, damn, clothes, off," Jim panted, he'd barely been touched and he was halfway there. The man smirked, actually smirked, and took his damn time leaving Jim's chest to remove his own clothing. He returned, and now that they were both completely naked, things began to heat up.

Jim grabbed both their penises, eliciting a minor moan from Spock as he began to work them, at first with two hands, and then with one hand together. Next time he'd grab lube or lotion or something to make them even slicker, but he really didn't give a shit this time, doing everything he liked to both himself and Spock, and getting paid in kind.

Then Spock ran a finger up his ass.

Jim gasped, half in surprise. Jim didn't even know Spock knew... Maybe Uhura...? Thoughts of Uhura turned him down a little, but Spock added another finger and it turned him right back up. He forgot what he was doing and lay back on the bed, squirming and grabbing the the edges of the mattress as best he could. When he'd offered to sub, he didn't know he was going to end up bottoming too. He'd never bottomed in his life either, but-ah- it was-hh- definitely not- oh- unpleasant.

Then Spock fucked him.

"Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking christ!" Jim groaned, arching up. It fucking hurt the first time. Spock leaned up in and kissed him, and Jim hungrily returned it. Spock had to know how much Jim trusted him. Jim fucked —he wasn't fucked.

But damn, it was something else, giving himself up like this. It was hot. Very, very hot. And all on the bed he'd slept in as a teenager.

Spock began to move, and then thrust, and at first it was painful, and then pleasant, and then Spock started hitting this one spot, his prostate or whatever, and Jim started panting, and moaning and calling out Spock's name as he got closer and closer.

Jim's hands ran all over Spock, and Spock seemingly copied Jim in his moments over Jim's body. Jim, ever vocal, gasped and moaned and arched into every touch, opening his mouth wide and breathing hot and heavy. Spock, when he made any noise, it was usually some form of gasp, and gone as fast as it came.

But even Spock seemed to be getting close, breath coming heavier, faster, his thrusts changing speed. Jim himself was getting nearer, rubbing his dick with one hand, holding onto Spock with the other.

"Uhh, uhh, uhh," Jim grunted, each thrust shoving him up into his pillow, his head thrown back, blue eyes hooded, mouth open and wet from their kisses. He came loudly, and Spock came a few seconds later with a gasp and a stutter in his previously flawless pace. Thrusting a few more times into Jim's orgasmic bliss, he pulled out and rolled off of Jim, who was still gasping beside him.

Jim threw an arm over Spock's sticky chest and smiled dopily at him, still riding his high.

"That was fucking amazing," he said seriously, dropping his head beside Spock's.

"Indeed," was the breathy reply, and Spock shifted their positions so they each had an arm around each other.

Jim stared into a suddenly human face. All Spock's emotions were there. Bliss, joy, the emptiness that followed an intense orgasm. And those eyes. Soft and full of something that had Jim leaning in a kissing Spock sweetly.

They feel asleep like that, intertwined and in love.

Well, at least Jim hoped so.

**So yay, some sexy goodness here, if very delayed. I'm so sorry for the wait, life has just gotten crazy, but I really want to finish this story! I know where I want it to go and how I want it to end to. Basically, I'm looking for a beta. Does anybody know one or want to be mine? **

**The writers block may have something to do with the porn writing. Idk, it doesn't flow sometimes like other scenes. **

**But some really heavy sexy stuff next chapter before it tones down again, for a while, at least. **

**Anyway, sorry for the late update! **

**-Natcat**


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